Forcing the Stars to Align
by Thalia Castellan
Summary: When old men talk, things don't tend to end well. In the case of two immortals, they manage to come up with a shaky arrangement that's suppose to save hundreds of lives; unfortunately, it has a high risk of ruining one, possibly two, victimized lives.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything or anyone mentioned in this story that was created for the _Percy Jackson _universe. The plot is mine, and gods, monsters, etc. belong to the, now dead, Ancient Greeks.

**Info: **I've had the first half of this story outlined for almost a year now; I'm currently revising and editing it to be more IC and believable. I am not promising rapid updates, since I like when authors write longer chapters and update every-other week; as apposed to short chapters and several updates per week.

**Spelling/Grammar: **I'm trying to improve things like 'to' vs. 'too,' so, if you find a mistake, I'd apprentice it if you told me what it was, and how to fix it.

* * *

_"Calvin: Do you believe in the devil? You know, a supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation, corruption, and destruction of man?_

_Hobbes: I'm not sure that man needs the help"_~Bill Watterson.

* * *

Chiron swished his tail nervously. Shadows crept up around him, and the setting sun was barely throwing enough light through the one, high window to see by. He was well armed, and was quite confident that anything small enough to jump out from behind one of the numerous sheeted objects could be easily defeated. He was still uneasy.

"You came."

The voice startled the centaur: having caught him off guard. It wasn't a voice he had planned on hearing possible ever again; but one that, centuries before, he had been very familiar with.

"You swore to come under truce," Chiron reminded, feeling that he ought to at least _try _to keep his old friend from attacking.

White teeth flashed in the shadowy web of increasingly dark air that lay just beyond Chiron's sight. "Temporary truce." The sentence sounding mocking to Chiron; and, if he knew its owner, it was.

From the protective cover of darkness, a tall, black haired man stepped. His skin was marred by criss-crossing layers of deep scars, and even his high-collared dress shirt could not conceal the jagged marks racing down and across his neck.

"Prometheus," Chiron acknowledged, nodding curtly. He hadn't been on good terms with the fore-thinking Titan before the rebellion-the reason an inexplicable, likely unavoidable incident involving the few demi-titan children Prometheus had-but now, after the Titan had revealed himself to be a supporter of Kronos in the fast approaching battle, Chiron considered him an enemy to be dealt with on sight.

That pretty much explained why he was so hesitant to meet with the traitorous Titan alone, in an small house in the midst of otherwise unpopulated Oklahoman meadow.

"You and I both know that when fighting a war, protecting as many troops as possible is in your best interest." Just like Prometheus: right to the point; no pleasantries, no questions.

Chiron sighed, right hoof pawing nervously in a habit he had thought he'd broken. "Of course," He answered, struggling to keep eye contact when he had to crane his neck so uncomfortably high to see the black lens of the seven-foot Titan's sunglasses.

"Do you know where we are?" Prometheus asked suddenly, running the tips of his long, calloused fingers across the wall nearest him. They came back dusty; the walls now sporting racing stripes.

"An abandoned house," Chiron replied, trying his best to answer smoothly when his emotions clashed so violently between anger and remorse. One of his former friends was standing in front of him, acting the part of a diplomat, not an enemy: it would have been so much easier to hate him if he'd appeared more threatening.

The Titan nodded, the tiniest of smiles forcing its way across his lips. He liked intimidating people; especially those he had once been intimidated by. "Yes, one that I've bought for a...special purpose."

Chiron shivered: Prometheus' words sounded so innocent, almost childlike; but the centaur had learned never to trust the shiny exterior of anything, and he was on the verge of being panicked: buying houses didn't seem like the pastime one might expect from an important figure in Kronos' army.

"The son of Poseidon with be fifteen soon," Prometheus started, not waiting for the horse-man to comment on his previous declaration. "And we both know that, at the rate our armies are building, there will be heavy losses on both our sides if we don't agree on something, now."

"Agree on what?" Chiron asked, his interest sparked. He had been expecting the Titan to demand his surrender, or attempt to blackmail him; but not to ask for his agreement.

The minuscule, ghost smile was back for an instant; threading its way over broken lips that would never heal. "Kronos is planning to use the son of Hermes for his vessel; and your Olympian king will have lead a full war after that. No one will win. Terror will return to the earth, and most of the demigods alive now will die. I have seen it."

Chiron balked: amazed both at the great devastation Prometheus predicted, and the calm, self-assured way he was able to talk about it. "Wh-what do you propose?" He asked finally, swallowing hard as he tried to anticipate his companion's proposition.

"An alliance," The Titan answered, flexing his fingers before him. Like his suit, his tone was crisp, leaving nothing to argue with and nothing to improve. "One that will keep Kronos busy long enough to be destroyed; and Zeus bound to an agreed cease-fire."

As Chiron's eyebrows knit together, the last of the sun's light and heat left the small room. Prometheus snapped his palm open; a curl of red and orange fire springing from his discolored flesh. His blindingly white teeth and heavily tinted glasses stood even more prominently out in the strong light.

"I can think of nothing we have access to that could do both," Chiron said finally, his brows unfurling. He was disappointed that there was nothing available to him that could stop the pointless bloodshed that Prometheus was sure there was ahead; but he had faith in Percy: he hadn't lost _all _hope yet.

"Actually," Prometheus' lenses glittered strangely as sparks jumped from his palm and hit the thick black plastic. His lips had curled into a horribly uncanny cross between a triumphant smile and sadistic snarl: he looked positively frightening. "I already have."


	2. Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary

**Disclaimer: **Nothing reconizable from the _Percy Jackson_ series is mine. There gods and monsters belong to the Greeks, and the plot is mine.

**Universe: **I'm pretty sure I don't have to clarify, but just in case, this is AU-Alternate Universe.

_

* * *

In olden times sacrifices were made at the altar - a practice which is still continued. _

~Helen Rowland

* * *

The doubt that been biting at her stomach for the past two days flared uncontrollably: fighting its way past her core and into her heart and mind. How could she have been so stupid? How could she not have seen that Chiron would never have asked her to swear her absolute alliance unless he had something planned?

"_Yeah, for the billionth time, I swear on the River Styx that I'll do anything to help."_

Six words; the only ones that were proven to keep her tied down. Time-tested by at least half a dozen people, the fatal swear alone was the effective way to force to her do anything.

Standing suddenly, Thalia hurled the jar of nail polish she'd been holding against the far wall. Watching the glass shatter on impact and the foul smell liquid fly out in all directions, Thalia felt her heart begin to race. Cabin One felt so small: she was better suited for the open sky, and her quick breathes weren't helping her claustrophobia.

Heavy silence pounded at her eardrums, her chest rose and fell painfully, her fingers were numb, her face ashen, and her brain screaming protest. Death couldn't possibly be worse, could it? She hadn't done anything to deserve the Fields of Punishment, so the worst she could get was an endless wheat field stock-pilled with other dead souls.

That didn't seem so bad; in fact, the more she thought about it, the more expectable it became. Until, finally, it became an almost attractive alternative.

Glancing quickly down at her digital clock, Thalia managed a thin smile. She had just enough time to escape.

Scrambling up onto one of the top bunks, she threw open a window. Fresh air flowed into her probing nostrils, and her other senses rapidly restarted: shedding the dull, colorless world for the brightly light one that waited just outside the thick wall.

Dropping lightly to the ground, Thalia brushed her pants off; thanking whatever gods still held her in their favor for the common sense not to have changed into a dress.

Hearing someone bang on her newly evacuated cabin's door, the Huntress set off at a sprint, plunging towards the forest. She had no idea how far she could get before her swear caught up with her and she exploded, but she was going to try and run for as long as she could before that happened.

She got pretty far: the halfway point of Zephyros Creek. She had to stop there, though: the turmoil brewing deep within her was threatening to spill over and obscure her vision. She considered letting them; throwing herself at the mercy of her emotions and drinking in the triumph that would come from cutting her ropes and free-falling.

But Thalia _never _let her emotions rule her actions; it was a long written commandment that she had long since sworn to keep for all eternity-not on the Styx though; she wasn't quite so full of herself to think that her opinion would never change.

So, instead of running herself into a blind rage and starting the biggest electrical storm she could muster, she stumbled to a stop beside the fast-moving stream. There was a boulder there, wedged into the rocky riverbed, and she sat down on it; doing her best to slow her pounding heart.

Breathing in and out proved to be a struggle, so, for a peaceful few minutes, Thalia rested; focusing simply on the inhale and exhale movements an Asian Hunter had taught her.

For the briefest stretch of time, the panic that had built up in Thalia's system for the past forty-eight hours left. The experience left her feeling drained and exhausted: the panic having fueled the rage and determination that had kept her stable. She felt empty without the three familiar emotions clogging up each and every one of her thoughts.

Her heartbeat slowed considerably; leaving room for the peace to end as the panic returned. It coursed through her, tearing her tranquility to shreds. Her head reeled with her fear, and her body stiffened as she experienced the rush of hysteria for the hundredth time.

Eyelids snapping open, she glanced longingly towards the swirling water, wondering if she could force herself to take the step over the edge that could send her falling to the sharp rocks and forceful currents below.

"As much as I'd love to return the favor of pushing you off a cliff, Chiron wants you."

Jerking around, Thalia's already tormented eyes widened-but then narrowed just as quickly: she never let anyone see her emotion. She desperately wished that she hated the blond standing before her, but she didn't. Instead, he inspired a deep, unquenchable terror that blazed to life whenever his name was mentioned. To have him stand anywhere near her forced her into a state of panic even worse then the one she was already in. She could barely speak.

"Go away," she whispered, grinding her teeth together in an effort to do _something_. "I'm not going back."

"Really," the man smirked, "I'm surprised: I thought you never gave-up."

Thalia almost bared her teeth. Almost. "It's not giving-up if you're dead."

"You've escaped death so many times, it'd be a shame to commit suicide now. To back out and give-up."

It was a taunt, just a taunt. Thalia had to repeat her silent monologue to herself over and over: it was the only thing keeping her from blasting the other demigod out of her life forever. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her skin: she had to ball them, it was all she could do to contain the blue sparks that danced into her clenched palms.

"Giving-up is better then giving-in," she answered, matching his humorless tone with her own emotionless retort. "I never give-in," She added, shaking her head slightly.

The other half-blood raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Not even on Half-blood Hill? That wasn't your best fighting: you gave-up and gave-in."

Surging waves of contradicting emotions finally broke through the dam encircling Thalia's mind. Blinding rage coupled with the slimmest fragments regret temporarily put an end to all rational thoughts flowing to her brain.

Losing her last shreds of self-control, Thalia curled her right hand into a fist and sprung; propelling herself off the rock and toward her target with impressive force.

He caught her clenched hand inches before it could impact his face.

"You can't hurt me," he whispered harshly, his eyes icy as he stared down at her. "I'm invincible."

She had guessed so much: he had survived a fall that should have killed him. For months though, she had been praying that she was wrong, that he had simply been lucky; or he was under the protection of a minor god. Either way, she didn't want his invincibility to be true.

Not only was he the only living-being she feared, but it left an ominous question hanging in mid-air.

A question she didn't want answered.

* * *

"I do." There was no way out any more. None at all. She just had to except that and move on.

Everything was pounding, her heart included. She could barely stand still: every terrified molecule in her body was screaming at her to run. She couldn't though, her feet were frozen in place; her fatefully oath in the works.

Chiron waited patiently as she tried several times to fit the flashing gold band onto her soon-to-be husband's ring finger without actually touching him.

Why the wedding was set to traditional Christian customs was a mystery. It could be presumed though, that since those customs were arguably the most well-known, it had been planned thus out of connivence.

"By the power vested in me by the goddess Hera, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," Chiron closed his mouth tightly, pressing his lips together painfully as he waited along with the guests to see the outcome.

Thalia's heart sped up again, beating against her ribcage like an alarm bell. Her vision blurred, and her limbs trembled as she rocked gently back in forth in an effort to keep herself from running away.

As calloused fingers lifted her thin veil up from her face and set it down with the rest in the back, her breath to quickened. The gossamer fabric had been the last thing left separating her from the rest of the company; and more importantly, _him_. With it gone, she felt powerless.

His lips on hers wasn't a foreign feeling to her; though, admittedly, only she had long since forgotten. The warmth emitting from the silver circlet was new; a silent reminder that she was being forced to leave behind the life she had chosen.

"For the first time ever, Mr. and Mrs. Luke Castellan!"

Thalia winced as throughout the folding chairs, figures began to clap. There weren't many: none of the gods or titans had been invited, only demigods and a handful of demi-titans. Among them, Percy and Annabeth were standing, neither looking particularly happy.

Annabeth was looking longingly at Luke, and every bit of Thalia wished that they could trade places. She knew Annabeth had loved Luke for years, she should be the one marrying him. Chiron had been firm though; Thalia was the princess, not Annabeth.

Percy was just mad that Luke was getting away with everything he had done: unscathed. And that all the training and worrying that he'd done was to be in vain. Chiron had drawn him aside and assured him that he would no longer have to stress over being the 'prophecy child.' Thalia strongly disagreed, and had later told Percy as much; but he was still moping.

The rest of the demigods were exhausted, Thalia could see it in their eyes. Along with relief; the realization that the war was over and they would no longer have to wake-up every morning, wondering if there was another deserter in their midst.

Thalia blinked, finally allowing the same realization to crash down over her head. The war was over: done, finished. There would no longer be 'heroes' and 'traitors.'

And she was the bargaining chip that had made it possible.


	3. How Does Your Garden Grow

**Disclaimer: **Anything from the _Percy Jackson _series that wasn't borrowed from Greek Mythology isn't mine. Anything that wasn't borrowed from either is mine.

_

* * *

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_Business is a combination of war and sport._

~Andre Maurois

* * *

"One lie at a time," Luke thought to himself, rolling the steam of a wine glass slowly in his fingers.

The demigod he was talking to didn't seem to notice that the groom was distracted, and kept talking. Luke had long since tuned him out, and was scanning the small crowd for anyone more interesting to talk with.

He was bored: bored of the uninteresting company, bored of waiting, bored of everything. As far as he was concerned, he should have been able to leave the moment Chiron pronounced him married. He was on a tight schedule, and unless he wanted to face the inquisition of curious titans, he had to be back at the titan's base within the next two hours.

And there was a stop he had to make along the way.

"Luke!"

The blond demigod blinked upon hearing his name, and, despite being older and much stronger, he staggered as the familiar figure of Annabeth crashed into him; sending his half-empty glass spinning out of his hand and shattering on contact with the ground.

"Annabeth," Luke smiled, returning the daughter of Athena's warm welcome. Of all the half-bloods at the gathering, she was his favorite: the one he wanted to cause the least pain. "How've you been?"

"I've missed you," Annabeth murmured, burying her face in the shoulder of the older demigod's shirt.

"I've missed you too, Annie," Luke confessed, kissing the top of her head just in time for the approaching son of Poseidon to see.

"Let go of her!" Percy cried defiantly, Riptide already in clasped in his hands and his physique posed in attack mode.

"Drop her," another voice chimed in, this one a growl and even more menacing then Percy's flashing blade. "Now."

A heavy silence descended into the air as Thalia stepped forward, hands balled into fists and hanging tensely beside her. Waves of tiny blue sparks dripped from her limbs and leaked from her curled fingers, and in spite of her emotionless face-or perhaps because of it-she appeared truly frightening.

Luke released Annabeth from their hug, though the young blonde remained stubbornly before him until Thalia sent a volley of spark her way.

"Get behind Percy," the black haired demigoddess commanded, her eyes never wavering from icy eyes of her new husband.

Annabeth frowned, and opened her mouth to speak, but Percy grabbed her arm from behind and dragged her away. "Let me go!" She demanded, glaring at her best friend; but he stared right past her, his eyes trained on Luke and filled with distrust.

"Don't touch her again," Thalia commanded, her tone threatening. She moved forward, leaning close enough to Luke's face so that she could speak without the other two hearing her. "Or I will kill you."

The older demigod smiled, his right hand moving to grip her arm. "I'm invincible, or don't you remember?"

"You're only as strong as your weakest point," Thalia whispered, impassable eyes narrowed. "If you hurt her, I'll find that point."

Luke dropped her arm and slowly walked a complete circle around his ridged wife. "And what's your weakest point, Thalia, how can I hurt you?"

Silver aura mixed with electric blue flared against the smaller demigod's pale skin, and Luke caught sight of a trickle of blood racing down from her clenched palm. "You can't," Thalia replied, sounding surprisingly sure of herself. "I have no weak spot."

The edges of Luke's mouth twitched into a fleeting smile. "We'll see; we'll see."

* * *

He could _feel _the fear radiating off her. Crawling from her skin and lingering in the surrounding air: stalling and fouling it. The revelation made him want to laugh: he had been afraid of a person who feared him more then he had ever her.

There was something different about her when she was with him; something that had tipped him off to her dread. She had a tell. One that, having lived with her for two years, he had long known about. Her bracelet: she rubbed it when she was scared or nervous.

She was doing that now, he observed, watching her from across the room as she sat ram-rod straight against the wall; nothing but her right hand moving. Her back was pushed against the off-white hotel room wall, her legs crossed over the green bench, and her eyes never left him. Contradicting all of that, her fingers never slowed; rubbing and prodding silently at the silver bracelet she always wore clasped to her left wrist.

Turning away from his fellow, blue eyed demigod, Luke poured two glasses of water. He smiled to himself as he did, knowing that, no matter how hard she stared, he was still a son of Hermes-and as much as he liked to deny the fact, the skill he had acquired through his father could be quite useful-and he was quick enough to add a few extra movements to the task that she could not pick up on.

"Here," he said, picking up the two, lightly tinted glasses and crossing the room to set one down before her. "You must be thirsty."

The moment Luke saw Thalia swallow a mouthful of the bordering on clouded liquid, he realized just how frightened she was. She was to busy focusing her concentration on him to pay proper attention to anything else.

He would have to remember the severity of the effect he had on her.

"You drugged my water," she whispered, eyes widening as she stared at him. "How?"

Luke was momentarily taken aback: he had expected the question she would ask would be 'why,' not 'how.' "Quick fingers," he shrugged the question and its unhelpful answer off, waiting patiently to see the effect the drug would have on his old friend.

He didn't have too wait long.

Thalia put up a valiant fight; but anger and fear had drained her, and even her will was exhausted. Her lithe body fell slack in under five minutes, and, shortly afterwards, her eyes closed: allowing her to dive into a deep slumber.

Glancing quickly around the large chain of rooms the titans had rented out solely for this purpose, Luke found the mirrors and sink Prometheus had described. They were easy to set up, and with a careless flick of his fingers, Luke sent a sparkling gold drachma into the now rainbow colored water.

The image blurred, rocking in quick rapids that Luke had to look away from in order to avoid sea-sickness. The picture eventually straightened out, though, and when it did, the scarred face of one of the more reasonable titans-in Luke's opinion-appeared.

"Do you have the girl?" Prometheus asked, raising his eyebrows.

Luke nodded, moving briefly out of the way so the titan could observe the knocked-out girl sleep on the forest green chaise. "Just liked we planned."

A wry smile spread over the titan's cracked lips, and something beyond his pupils flared with the punch line to an old joke. "She looks comfortable," he purred, allowing himself a quick period of reminiscing; thinking about all the years he spent chained to a rock by decree of the girl's father.

Luke shrugged, having seen the Huntress sleep in both more comfortable and less accommodating places then a well stuffed, backless couch. "Yes sir," was all he managed.

"Do you have the chains?" Prometheus asked suddenly, recovering from the vivid details of his past.

"Fasten from the aged rocks of Tuataras," Luke confirmed, holding up a pair of black handcuffs held together by a roped chain nearing twelve inches long. "Not even Hercules could break these."

"Let us hope not," Prometheus agreed, letting the implied threat take full root in his follower's mind before continuing. "She is, after all, your responsibility."

Sucking in a quiet breath, Luke pondered over a question he had been mulling over since the entire plan had been reveled to him, just days before. "Why do I have to bring her back?" He asked hesitantly, glad that the powerful titan was thousands of miles away, and not actually sitting in the small sink.

"As opposed to what?" Prometheus asked, small wrinkles appearing around his eyes.

Luke inhaled deeply, gathering the strength to propose his idea. "Getting everything done now; tonight. Why lug her around the country if everything we need done can be completed here; in one night?"

A wicked grin crossed the titan's face as his hands appeared in the watery reflection; a result of his now steepled fingers. "Not only do we have an appearance to keep up," he informed the demigod, eyebrow rising. "But wouldn't you agree that the suspense is the best part?"

Luke stepped back as his accomplice ended their chat abruptly. He wasn't sure if he agreed: with the suspense being better then the prize. His opinion didn't matter though: he wasn't in charge; he was a follower.

Kneeling down to level himself with her face, Luke firmly clamped the custom-made handcuffs around Thalia's small wrists. If there was one thing he _could _be sure of, it was that no matter what she tried, the stubborn demigod before him wasn't going anywhere without his say-so.


	4. With Silver Bells, and Cockle Shells

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's changed since last time; hence, I own nothing from the _Percy Jackson _series, or anything from the Greek's wonderful mythology. I do, however, claim ownership to anything else.

**Grammar/Spelling:** As always, I did my best. If you catch something I missed, I'd really appreciate knowing.

* * *

Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out.  
Anton Chekhov

* * *

The first thing Thalia registered when she woke, was that her head hurt. She didn't want to lift her eyelids: she knew the light would only add to the dull pain. Then, it all started coming back to her.

Licking her lips hesitantly, Thalia found that she could still taste the drugged water's residue on her soft skin. A bitter, unsavory flavor that she should have noticed before. Before, when she'd been to busy being scared too keep her guard up.

_And now you're trapped_, Thalia reprimanded herself sternly, finally daring to open her eyes.

To her surprise, the room was sparsely furnished: a bed, desk, and bureau were the only pieces of sizable decor. One the stone walls, a single, woven banner hung above the fourposter bed; stitched on it, the symbol of Kronos: the sickle.

Thalia herself was kneeling on the cold, stone slabbed floor. When she tried to stand, she found, much to her annoyance, that her wrists were secured behind her back and her ankles likewise lashed together.

Frowning, she continued to struggle against her bonds with greater force. She was losing the feeling in her legs-which were tucked neatly under her-and while she hadn't had much choice in whether or not she married Luke, she wasn't going to remain his prisoner in this castle of darkness.

She was in the midst of attempting to bring her arms up and over her head far enough to inspect at closer range, when the door on the opposite wall swung open abruptly and her aforementioned husband came sauntering in.

"Don't wear yourself out: there's no way you can get those off," Luke smirked, dropping the folder of papers he'd been holding onto his waiting desk. "Even the strength of Hercules couldn't break those handcuffs."

"Watch me," Thalia snapped, trying fruitlessly to calm her racing heart as she felt it thud uncomfortably against her ribcage. He was close; just a few feet away. Her former best friend, current captor, and the only living being she had ever truly feared.

"I plan to," Luke assured, pulling his desk chair out from its place and closer to where she knelt.

Pain blossomed on Thalia's tongue as she bit back an unhelpful retort.

* * *

By the time dawn broke through the slit like window in Luke's room, Thalia had tried everything she could think of to get free. Every plan had failed. The handcuffs were, unfortunately, not breakable by any measure of strength she could muster. Also, by the same ill luck, she couldn't try to break whatever was keeping her ankles pressed together, because even the unpleasant feeling of pins-and-needles had disappeared from her lower legs and she had lost all power of movement over both them and her feet.

Having grown bored and hopeless of an immediate escape, Thalia turned her head to look at the blanket covered mass on the bed that was her feared companion. At the very least, she could stare at him until he woke up; a few hours ripped from the 'sleep block' in his schedule was, at present, the only real discomfort she could cause him.

One thing hadn't changed about the son of Hermes since their days on the run together: he was still the world's lightest sleeper.

"Cut it out," he mumbled, jolting awake only minutes after Thalia started her unwavering stare. "I'm sleeping."

"Not anymore," Thalia insisted stubbornly, counting the seconds before she was forced to blink.

"What'd you want?" Luke asked, still not awake fully enough to realized he was asking his prisoner a question about her personal comfort.

"Is there a bathroom in this dump?" Thalia snapped, successfully managing to keep a biting tone to her quavering voice.

Promptly, as if a switch had been turned on somewhere behind his eyes, Luke's face drained of all traces of exhaustion, and he smirked. "I have a system for that too, dear _wife_!"

Thalia flinched as 'wife' passed over his lips in a hiss: the reference to their new bond flared even more fear within her midsection, and her breathing was already tight. "A system for using the toilet? How clever of you."

A brief sense of satisfaction spread through the demigoddess' restrained body as Luke struggled to keep an expressionless face. Her own happiness vanished only seconds later, however, as one of the two doors swung open to revel a trembling girl held captive by a much larger Laistrygonians.

Luke snapped his fingers, the ties binding Thalia's ankles falling away. "The bathroom's through that door,"-he pointed to the one that had yet to be opened-"if you aren't out in two minutes, still unarmed, or if you try to escape at all, this girl dies. Slowly."

Floundering unsteadily as she struggled to stand, Thalia spared the quaking girl a glance. There was no way the poor thing could have been over ten, and the empty look in her brown eyes suggested that she had already given up.

There was a half-second, a moment's work of indecision, as Thalia contemplated letting the girl die. There was a good chance she would anyway, what with probably being starved and worked half to death; but then something moved within the deepest pits of the girl's iris, and her mouth moved.

"Please," the younger female whispered, the words sounding hoarse and hollow. "Don't let him kill me."

The last syllables were followed by a long, hacking cough. Thalia could practically feel the last drops of moister in the young girl's body rushing to her mouth to wet her pallet.

"I won't try anything," she raised her eyes to meet Luke's as she shuffled forward cautiously. "I promise."

She didn't even ask if she could have her handcuffs taken off: she was sure he'd already started his two minute count-down.

* * *

After a week, even Thalia's defiant, stubborn outlook was beginning to cave. Every morning, after Luke had left her alone to go and do whatever it was Luke did, she scanned the bedroom: searching everywhere for an escape route. After two days, when she'd grown bored of staring at stone walls and stone floors, desperately trying to glare her way out, she started something else. Rubbing her ankles against her wrists. Well, to be more precise: chafing the rope that bound her ankles against the handcuffs on her wrists.

This, however, proved to be a waste of time, when, on the fifth day of her imprisonment, after one of her trips of the bathroom, Luke retied her ankles with a _new _cord. All her hard work was tossed into a trash bin without a second glance. Although, if he didn't know about her half-formed plans of escape, it was probably to her benefit.

Food was delivered to her once a day: right after Luke returned. It became increasingly frustrating: that he never left a weak link. No one had even come into the room other than brown-eyed girl and the Laistrygonians who held her captive.

Not only was lack of new faces irritating, but the fact that none of the old faces Thalia knew ever popped up. There had been no Iris messages from Annabeth-who had, after Thalia joined the Hunt, been IMing her at least once a month-nor was Artemis looking for her; something Thalia was starting to find more then annoying.

What lie, she wondered, could Chiron have told the moon goddess that would keep her from worrying or contacting her lieutenant? Thalia's curiosity would start nipping the back of her mind every time she felt the cool, silver Huntress band press firmly against her forehead. After all, why would Artemis not have taken back the metal band; wouldn't she want a lieutenant that wasn't _married_?

Her musings were dropped short when _he _walked in. Today, his arms were full of what appeared to be scrap metal, and he was muttering incoherently about Hephaestus' children being to loyal to their father and direct relations for his personal liking.

"You're late," Thalia started, ignoring the pounding of her heart and the little voice in her head that warned her today wasn't a good day for mouthing-off. "Did Kronos keep you in the forge, picking up the unwanted castoffs?"

Immediately, when Luke turned sharply around to face her, Thalia realized she should have listened to the forewarning voice. The blond's eyes were full of the same, strong rage that had, so many years before, earned Annabeth a slap and after, when Thalia had stood up for her, a matching handprint. It was not a look to be taken lightly.

"This is not a good time, Grace," he snarled, dropping down to the floor to meet her gaze.

She should have stopped; assumed that, given she was the prisoner and he the captor, she should respect his anger and leave him be. She should have realized that if he had gone to the trouble of _telling her _it was a bad time, she should keep her sharp tongue silent until a better one arose.

If he had used "Thalia," or "girl," or even "Joseph," then maybe she would have found it somewhere in herself of forget momentarily about the handcuffs, and use common sense. But no, he had said "Grace," and no one used her last name. _No one._

"It isn't a good day?" She repeated, scornfully. "What's not good about it: the chains, the moldy food, the cold floor, the-"

She had anticipated many of his possible reactions: they ranged from a slap to having her tongue cut out. There wasn't much else he could do, she'd reasoned, since, technically, she was a peace offering for _Kronos_; and the microscopic matter of the Lord of Time being in many pieces at the moment didn't change that she wasn't Luke's to dispose of.

Something she hadn't reasoned for was that he would jump up, pluck a glittering knife from thin air, and then cut rapid, deep lines across her back. Right through her now rather dirty wedding dress.

"Did you not hear me, _Grace_?" he whispered harshly, the knife making another pass on her back and drawing a sound even more unpleasant then the one that slipped, unbidden, from Thalia's mouth. "I said, _this is not a good time_!"

Thalia bent forward and gritted her teeth firmly against the searing pain as the blade did another sweep and more blood warmed the untouched skin still left. She would have fought back, but the feeling in her legs was once again gone, Luke was holding her head still by the roots of her short hair, and she was afraid to move her hands into the knife's range.

Still though, through the horrific pain and blurred thoughts, she managed a grim smile. "I heard you," she replied, fighting off the incoming darkness with the strength she had left. "I just didn't care."

* * *

**AN (author's note): **No, I did not just throw any bit of filler information I could think of into this; everything that seems pointless now will be explained later. Somewhere down the line in my still messy outline.

I do have one question, though: do you prefer when the author of a story replies to reviews individually, or writes their reply at the end for the next chapter so that anyone who has the same inquiry doesn't have to ask again?


	5. And Pretty Maids All in a Row

**Disclaimer: **Again, I own nothing recognizable from the _Percy Jackson _series, and Ancient Greek mythology belongs to the Ancient Greeks. The plot, and Ella (who, if you've read _A Diary of Nyx_, you might remember) are mine, however.

**Spelling/Grammar: **I did my best, as always. Please, especially if a mistake is recurring, point it out.

* * *

"To command is to serve, nothing more and nothing less."

Andre Malraux

* * *

Luke had gotten use to everything the titans did. Well, most everything. He understood why they tortured possible spies and deserters. He knew and excepted that to be a good solider, one had to learn to endure pain. He never attended the public humiliations of the captured girls, however.

The titans believed in "old school" tactics. Kill the men, keep the women. The logic was simple: men were good for fighting, but they weren't going to fight for the opposing side. Women weren't allowed in the titan army as anything other then spies, so the only good thing the captured ones were good for were titan army babies. And if they could be taught a lesson in respect along the way, then public humiliation was everyone's favorite Friday evening special.

It made him sick, though. No matter how dark the girls' hair was, all he saw was blonde. Honey blonde in loose, princess curls. And if the unlucky female happened to actually have golden hair, the strands turned instantly black. If they begged and pleaded for mercy, their eyes were an innocent, trusting gray. If they cursed or refused to scream, their eyes were a scathing, determined shade of blue. And no one was allowed to hurt Annabeth. If only the other, older girl hadn't been born royalty.

He was sitting in the cool shade of the titan's garden, trying to block out the sound of the current public torture session. The evening was warm, but windy. The smells of the flowers some of the more, nature inclined demigods had planted wafted up from the flowerbeds, and for a brief moment, Luke was able to let go and relax. He wasn't alone, though, and his inner peace didn't last long.

"You're wanted at the castle, sir."

Luke sighed, opening his eyes. "For what?" He grunted, feeling a twinge of anger toward the demigod before him. The only thing that kept him from snapping at her was that, on occasion, she had proved to be helpful.

"Prometheus didn't say," Ella, a daughter of Nyx, answered. She brushed her black hair out of her face, and then flicked her equally inky black eyes once in the direction of the looming castle, and then back to him. "But I think it has something to do with your wife."

His senses jumped to alert, and Luke stiffened. "How do you know about that?" He hissed, his right hand racing down to the hilt of Backbiter. "That... matter, has been kept strictly between Prometheus and myself."

"The night has ears," Ella said, reminding him of the exact reason why she was one of his favorite spies. "I don't always mean to hear things, I just do," her voice quavered in fright, and her already impossibly pale face whitened a few shades. "I apologize for the intrusion."

A pained scream cut Luke off, and he cringed. Every memory he had of Annabeth hurt or scared flashed through in mind in an instant, and he curled his fingers more firmly over the hilt of his sword. "Don't tell anyone," he managed, still tense.

"That's all?" Ella sounded puzzled, not relieved. Luke wondered if he had gotten so frightening that it was _expected _he would kill people who slighted him on sight.

Cheers erupted from the neighboring green, and Luke had to focus all his energy on not gagging. "That's all," he said finally, collecting himself enough to push himself to his feet.

"Thank you, sir," the other demigod whispered, already turning around to flee before he could change his mind.

Luke watched her go, still pondering how he could possibly shower _that _much fear onto someone. He knew he could be intimidating, and that he was pretty much the undisputed second in command-at least, no one publicly question his position. However, even the two things put together didn't seem like they would be enough to make one of his best spies tremble. And no one else had been acting strangely around him, it was only her. Everyone else went on as they always did: respecting him and keeping their distance, but not _shaking _in his presence.

Unless...Luke almost laughed at himself. Ella was the only one who knew that he had imprisoned the demigod princess of the Olympians. She was the only one who knew that Luke was keeping possibly the most powerful half-blood alive, in chains. The daughter of Nyx was the only one in the entire titan camp, other then Prometheus, who knew that he had an incredible powerful force eating and breathing in his living quarters.

* * *

"Lord Prometheus, you sent for me?" Luke waited for the titan's signal, and then straightened from his bow.

"Yes," Prometheus nodded thoughtfully, "I did. We have business to discuss."

Luke frowned. The tone the titan was using didn't sit well with him. It made him nervous. It was the same one Prometheus had used when he commanded Luke get married. It was one that never meant something good was about to happen. "Is there?" He asked, hoping his analysis was mistaken.

"Yes," Prometheus repeated, unbothered by the hesitant tone Luke had used. "I believe it is time for the next step in the plan."

So, he had been right. Luke stiffened, wishing for the first time in a long while that he had been wrong. "Phase four?"

The titan shook his head, the thinnest of smiles crossing his scarred lips. "No, Mr. Castellan, this is the first step in phase two. Getting the princess to our base was phase one, now, that phase is over, and is time for the next to begin."

"This soon?" Luke knew he shouldn't have said anything, that, like he expected his soldiers and spies to comply instantly with his every command, Prometheus expected the same of him.

Prometheus raised his eyebrows in amusement, and his fleeting smile returned. "If you are uncomfortable with the steps, perhaps Atlas would be a good substitute? Surely, letting _one _more person in on the secret wouldn't hurt."

"No!" The moment the interjection left his mouth, Luke regretted it. He hadn't meant to show any emotion, but now, Prometheus had seen some. Now, any mistakes he made could be looked at, not as mistakes, but as treason.

"No?" Prometheus' smile hadn't gone away, and it looked eery, lingering there on his cold, sadistic features. "Why "no," Mr. Castellan, is Atlas not good enough for you?"

Luke pulled himself together quickly, knowing only a speedy, and believable recovery would be of any use to him now. "Atlas is fine, Lord Prometheus. However, since we would like the..."task," in presentable shape, I believe he would be the wrong choice."

Prometheus hid his smile well, this time, and Luke barely got a glimpse of it. "Very well," he steepled his fingers and lent forward an inch or so. "I am trusting that, since you are so concerned about the wellbeing of your "task," you will be preforming step four yourself."

"Yeah," Luke stopped, realizing that the titan looked taken aback. "Yes, Lord Prometheus, I will be."

"Good," the titan of creation nodded approvingly and once again relaxed against the back of his throne-like chair. "You are dismissed."

Luke bowed, again. "Thank you, Lord Prometheus," he said, and he hoped the titan hadn't picked up on his eagerness to leave. Slowly, trying his best not to move faster then normal, he retreated from the room.

* * *

"Luke, there you are!"

Momentarily, Luke wondered if he could get away with ignoring the creature behind him that had just purred his name. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her. Or anyone else, really.

"Wait up!"

Slowing his pace, Luke sighed. The _empousa_ didn't seem to have any intention of giving up. "Yes, Kelli?"

"I haven't seen you in ages," the curly hair on Kelli's head bounced as she hurried forward in jerky, uneven steps. The seductive smile the _empousa _was flashing didn't balance out the metal _clunk_ing and knowledge that, at any moment, she could hypnotize Luke into letting her eat him.

"I've been busy," Luke answered, keeping his tone cold. He was a leader and a role model, it went against his rank to hunch his shoulders forward and sulk. He couldn't brush people off as if they were nothing but flies. If the monsters weren't treated with respect, they would cease to fight for the titans. As for the demigods, they would return to Camp Half-Blood if they began to doubt that their service was not appreciated.

"Yes," a suspicious flicker jumped to life in Kelli's eyes, and the smell of roses and clean, but wet horses that always surrounded her, flared up. "What have you been doing? You've had no time for me."

Stopping himself just before he went to rub his temples, Luke refrained from telling the _empousa _that he rarely _liked_ spending time in her presence. Even when he wasn't busy dealing with his own, secret issues. "Planning things," he muttered vaguely, instead.

"Is everything alright?" Kelli asked, her metal leg clattering unpleasantly as she rushed to keep pace with Luke. "You're tense."

Keeping himself from uttering an irritable response, Luke composed himself. "I'm fine," he answered simply, hoping Kelli would take the hint. "Tired, but fine."

Mercifully, the _empousa _did, indeed, pick up on his annoyed tone, and she made no further attempts at conversation until they arrived at a fork in the hall. "I have somewhere to be," she said, her voice a bit remorseful. "Will I see you at dinner?"

Pausing to fish a key from his pocket, Luke shrugged. "Perhaps. I have work to finish."

Kelli smiled, pearly white teeth looking dangerously sharp in the fading light that streamed through the closest window. "Enjoy it. After all, this is what you want, right?"

The words "if only," flew across Luke's mind, but he ignored them. The last thing he needed was Kelli poking her head where it didn't belong. "Of course," he said, managing a smile. She returned the facial expression happily.

Revolving away from the _empousa_, Luke paused a moment, then turned the key in its lock.

* * *

**AN**: And...end "phase one!" In other words, the chapter titles will no longer be lines from _Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary_, but a new nursery rhyme. Yes, that's pretty much the only interesting information about this story I have, at the moment. That and that I have yet to finish _The Lost Hero_, so in case anyone was wondering, unless otherwise stated, this story is _Lost Hero _spoiler free. : )

Also, celebrating my sort of "return" to fanfiction (from a reviewing hiatus only) I would like to prepose a sort of review challenge. Since I posted _Forcing the Stars to Align_, roughly five hundred people have clicked on it. There are, however, only nine reviews. If this is the case for my story, then I'm guessing a lot of other fanfic authors are in the same boat. Therefore, if you leave a review for this story, leave the name of one of your stories you'd like me to read and review, and I will. The only rules are that your story must be from the _Percy Jackson _category (the only exception is the _Mysterious Benedict Society _category), T or under, and that my review will be around the same length as yours.

Oh, and I'd like to thank cookiecrumbs976 for reviewing almost every chapter so far. No, it has nothing to do with the story itself, but it's surprised me how nice it is to have someone reviewing each chapter.


	6. Up and Down the City Road

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's changed: all I own is the plot, and Ella, a daughter of Nyx

**Spelling/Grammar: ** As always, if you see a mistake, please let me know so I can fix it.

* * *

"Patience is the companion of wisdom."

Saint Augustine

* * *

Martini glass in hand, Prometheus watched, amused, as the _empousa _Kelli, and the demigod Luke, disappeared from the inner courtyard and into the hall that lead to the demigod's room. He could practically taste the impatience rolling off the demigod's body, mixed with determination. And, could it be? Prometheus flared his nostrils, inhaled deeply, and smiled. It was, indeed, a twist of regret. The demigod regretted his orders.

"Come out, dear," the titan hissed, turning away from his window and narrowing his eyes behind their protective lenses.

From the shadows of black pillars and dark tapestries, a girl stepped forward. She was not one of his favorite spies: skin a little to pale, hair a little to dark, ears a little to finely tuned. Today, however, she was the only person he could refer to.

"What do you know," he asked, attempting to sooth the girl's fears by speaking softly. Unlike the demigod entertaining the _empousa _far below, Prometheus believed in creating a sense of trust with his acolytes, as opposed to fear. They were more likely to tell him the truth, and serve him unquestioningly, if they trusted him. "About the demigod princess being held here? I saw you speaking with Commander Castellan," he added, letting a minuscule smile descend over his scarred lips. "You fear him more then any of the other soldiers: you alone know what he is hiding."

"A bond," the girl, young woman, really, managed. "He called her his wife. She's here against her will, sir. He has her restrained with chains no measure of strength can break. She's tired, sir, she barely sleeps. She never talks to herself, not even when Commander Castellan leaves her alone. She just kneels there, staring at the wall and rubbing the chains that constrain her hands against the rope that bind her ankles."

Prometheus nodded approvingly. He had expected as much from a child of Zeus: the will to escape. In his experience, all the demigod princess and princesses were born with a strong survival instinct. The were akin to reptiles that were able to lose bits of their bodies and grown them back later. If you cut off a bit of a child of Zeus' freedom, they fought against whatever it was you had chained them with until they broke free.

He just hoped, for the son of Hermes' sake, that this princess would stop fighting after her vital organs were cut out.

"Very good," he smiled his thanks, and motioned toward a glass topped table. "Drink?"

The daughter of Nyx before him shook her head, her entire body lurching with the effort. "No thank you," she whispered, a hand moving to touch the sleeve of her loose shirt; and Prometheus could tell, if he glanced at the unusual creases in the fabric just right, that she had a weapon strapped to her forearm.

"You don't drink?"

"Not while I'm on a job, sir."

For the first time during their meeting, the titan felt a glimmer of respect for the demigod before him. She was smart, not to drink while in the company of others. Even smarter to cover her fear of poisoning by saying she didn't drink while she was suppose to be working. It was not an excuse many would argue with.

"You are to keep this matter of the princess a secret. You know that, of course," Prometheus kept his tone light, but he knew that, if the girl could pick up any sliver of emotion, or was anywhere close to as smart as the demigod, child of Hermes had made her out to be, she would pick up on his commanding tone.

The demigod nodded her head vigorously, saving herself from the instant death sentence Prometheus would have delivered, otherwise. "Commander Castellan told me so."

"Yes," Prometheus twirled the martini glass in his fingers, and recalled the regret he'd smelt on the son of Hermes' aura. "Keep an eye on him, would you?" He stated the question as if it were just that: a question. But the demigod before him knew, just as she had known before, that really, it was a command. "Report his every move back to me."

"Yes, sir," the girl whispered, eager to agree and be dismissed. "I'll come back every night, sir, and report to you."

Prometheus nodded encouragingly and sent her on her way. Only once she was gone, and the heavy door had closed behind her, did he allow himself a true smile. He had himself a spy.

* * *

The air was heavy with the smells of the oncoming spring. No mere Mortal, and very few demigods, would be able to pick out the exact scents, but Prometheus could. He could smell them all: prairie grass, scrublands, and at least half a dozen different pines. The temperature was rising, too, now in the mid-forties. It might not have seemed like spring to anyone else, but to Prometheus, the creature of life, it was the beginning of a cycle. Though, if he remembered correctly, there were still about two months before bobcats and white-tailed deer had their young.

Sighing, the titan stopped pacing up and down the deserted road, waved his hand in a seemingly unimportant manner, then stepped onto the property of the Oklahoman house he had met Chiron in, only a few weeks before. His thoughts returning to the births-to-come of animals, he sighed again. If only humans had children solely in the early months of spring: then there wouldn't be quite as many of them.

Everything was how he had left it. Sheets covered the furniture, and the only sound was a large, grandfather clock. The polished wood was covered in a fine layer of dust, but it still chimed: tolling the hours out, and ticking through the minutes. A smile that he was really using to often reached his lips, and Prometheus swayed, almost unnoticeably, in time to the constant ticking. There was something peaceful about this place: something he couldn't explain. And the ticking, it kept him grounded: reminded him of all the things he had yet to do. It was..._serenely authoritative_. If that was possible.

He felt quite at peace there. So much so, that, for a lingering instant, the titan considered buying another property, and keeping this one for himself. Regretfully, though, he realized that there simply wasn't enough time, and if he started buying up real-estate like there was no tomorrow, he would likely attract unwanted attention.

Running the tips of his fingers over the kitchen's granite countertop, Prometheus wondered briefly, why he had spent so much time, and money, changing the abandoned, practically run-down house into an up-scale home. The Mortals who's minds he'd had to Mist over had certainly not been worth the money: he could have done the same job, instantaneously, for nothing. Leaving the kitchen, Prometheus' smile left his face. He supposed that he'd spent so much time working on this little house because he didn't have one of his own. And probably never would.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, Prometheus pushed the master bedroom door open. Everything was so neat. Albeit, the drop cloths were covered in dust, but otherwise, the room was very nice looking. Pale blue paint cloaked the walls, hiding the disgraceful mess of plaster; where, before he had transformed the house, beige wallpaper had hung.

The place still wasn't _quite _ready. And there was still a bit more waiting to do; before sheets could be put on the bed, the floors vacuumed, the walls dusted, the water turned on, and the drop cloths removed from the furniture. Breathing in heavily, through his nose, Prometheus sighed. The day the house would become lived-in would be a bittersweet one for him. On one hand, he would be happy to see the place cleaned up, and "brought to life," instead of just sitting here, looking drab. But then, on the flip side, he knew for certain that the people moving-in weren't going to have the same affection and appreciation for the place that he did. Nowhere close.

* * *

"How is she?"

Prometheus' laugh was like an avalanche's rumble, and he continued for a brief handful of seconds. Chiron's face, crystal clear in the Iris Message, was pricelessly concerned. It was interesting, for the titan, to see another immortal so worried about the well-being of a person who would wither and die like a plant gone to long without water. Who, even if she wasn't a "guest" in captivity, would die of natural causes, or be killed by a monster long before the centaur passed any kind of important landmark in his own, possibly never-ending life. "She's seen better," he said finally, containing his good cheer as he reached over the water filled sink and refilled his martini glass. "Though, from the stories that have reached my ears, she has also seen worse."

Thousands of miles away, Chiron's facial expression twitched, and he frowned. "I placed her in your care, Prometheus. You had better not be starving or beating her."

"I have not lain a finger on her since she arrived," the titan assured, taking a long drink of alcohol. "Nor do I intend to."

Chiron looked doubtful. "Why not?"

Prometheus shrugged, and drummed his fingertips against the marble countertop in a rhythmic pattern. Truthfully, there were quite a few answers to the other immortal's posed question, but he only needed to tell the centaur one of them. "She is another man's wife, Chiron," he said finally, keeping his face emotionless. "And there are plenty of unwed girls running through the ground; I needn't go and steal, or discipline, someone else's wife."

Chiron sent him a suspicious look, but seemed at least slightly relieved by the titan's declaration. "I suppose there are."

"There are," Prometheus repeated, wondering, not for the first time, why these daily conversations were necessary. On a normal occasion, the centaur could be an interesting conversationalist, and Prometheus had also found him to be quite an excellent chess player. However, during these check-up calls, the half-horse immortal was nothing short of an irritation.

"Well then," Chiron said, blurring the Iris Message's quality as he shifted.

"Well then," Prometheus repeated. And then, because he had nothing left to say, he tossed his martini glass into the water, and watched as the resulting ripples first disrupted, then dissolved the image.

* * *

**AN: ** Alright, so perhaps not the most _eventful_ chapter ever, but necessary for plot-development just the same. The nursery rhyme I've chosen to form the titles for this chapter, and the next three, is very long, therefore, I'm only using part of it; a lesser known part.

The review challenge still stands, with the same rules as before. I'd also like to thank all the people who reviewed without asking for return-reviews: I appreciate each and every one of your comments! And AHumanRobot, thank you so much for all your constructive criticism, I am very grateful for your help.


	7. In and Out the Eagle

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor claim to own, anything recognizable from the _Percy Jackson _series, or Greek mythology.

**Spelling/Grammar: **As usual, any helpful CC, especially concerning spelling and/or grammar, is highly appreciated.

**Spoiler Alert: **There is the smallest spoiler for a very small scene in _The Last Olympian;_ if you haven't read the book, I doubt you'll even know it's a spoiler, but I figured I should mention it, just in case.

* * *

"_True friends stab you in the front._"

**Oscar Wilde**

**

* * *

**

The moment Thalia saw Luke, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong. She saw the _empousa_, Kelli, walk off, and she wondered if the female monster had been the bearer of whatever bad news was the cause for Luke's foul mood.

"Don't," the blond demigod commanded, seeing Thalia open her mouth. "Just don't."

Thalia rolled her eyes; but she didn't speak. The cuts on her back had been treated by the same slave girl the Laistrygonians kept watch over, but they still hurt whenever she moved. She didn't want a repeat of the incident that had given her those scars.

Instead of giving some witty one-liner, Thalia took the opportunity to watch the older half-blood carefully. He was tense: so tense he was having trouble moving without jerking around and looking stupid. His jaw twitched every so often, and Thalia was transfixed by the way his own scar moved. She was unused to seeing his face marred by the pale mark, and she watched it with morbid fascination. He noticed her staring, and stalked quickly across the room, dropping down to kneel in front of her.

"Ugly," he snapped, glaring at her. "Isn't it?"

Thalia shrank back. She hated herself for the movement-she was Thalia, she _never _recoiled-but he scared her. His tone, the way he lurched whenever he moved: it all scared her. It reminded her of way he had behaved while they were on the run together, right before they had gone to his mother's house.

"That hideous?" He asked, almost surprised. "Not all of us are as untouchable as you are," he added, raising one hand, making as if to touch her face. His fingers drew away at the last minute, however, and the tiniest frown etched itself between Thalia's dark brows. He never hesitated. Once he decided to do something, he did it. Why was he unsure now?

Squirming even farther back, Thalia grimaced as her fingers brushed stone. She could retreat no further.

"Nothing to say?" Luke smirked, then shook his head. "I don't know _Grace_, I think you're losing your touch."

Thalia stiffed the moment her former surname left his lips, but still refused to say anything. No matter what she said, he would find a way to punish her for it. She had heard tales of the torture devices the Titan Army used, and none of them were pleasant. And if possible, Thalia intended to keep all of her limbs attached. Even if that meant keeping her mouth shut.

"Too bad," Luke shrugged, then stood. "I was looking forward to asking you some questions."

Thalia ignored him. It was easier now, with him moving across the room, and not sitting only a foot or so from her face.

"Particularly," he continued, turning slowly around to face her, again. "Why you haven't gotten any Iris Messages since you got here."

She tried not to show it, but Thalia's interest was immediately engaged. She had been wondering the same thing. She had thought, when Chiron first told her the she was going to have to marry Luke, that at least Annabeth would IM her once or twice a week, and they could talk. But the daughter of Athena hadn't contacted her. Not once.

Luke saw the expression on her face, and took a few more steps toward her.

"I don't-" Thalia bit her tongue, cutting herself off purposefully. So much for not talking.

"You don't what?" Luke hurried across the last few feet of space between them, and knelt down in front of her, again. "What don't you know?"

"The answer," Thalia whispered, unconsciously shrinking back as he leaned forward.

For a long moment, Luke studied her face, his own features unreadable. Finally, after Thalia's breathing had started to come in ragged inhales and exhales, he blinked. "Helpful, Grace," he sneered, standing up. "Helpful."

* * *

Thalia didn't know how long she had been Mrs. Castellan, or how long she had been trapped in the titan's castle. She had been planning on keeping track of the days, but then she had been drugged in the hotel room, and when she woke up, she'd had no idea how much time had passed. And since she slept durning the day, when Luke was gone, it was hard to keep track of when the sun rose and fell. She could have been there for eight days, or twenty; it didn't matter. She was powerless.

Sighing, Thalia wriggled on the stone floor. After a few minutes of fruitless squirming, she managed to lay down. It was hardly more comfortable than kneeling, but she had been sitting on her legs since her arrival, and when they weren't asleep, they were aching, and could barely support her weight.

The problem with lying down, was that she didn't know if she could get up again. But it didn't matter, not really. She couldn't defend herself from threats anyway, sitting up or lying down, so she might as well experiment with something new.

"Food."

Thalia pulled herself awake, flinching as a foot made contact with her chest. That would be one of the Laistrygonians, with her second meal of the day. Which meant Luke would be back, sometime in the next couple of hours.

"Get up," the enormous monster snarled, his foot once again lashing out and thumping painfully into Thalia's sideways form. This time, instead of hitting her stomach, the hairy foot smacked against her upper chest, and she groaned.

The Laistrygonians, apparently pleased with the reaction he had gotten, repeated the kick. Harder, this time. Thalia's quick inhale, and the high-pitched, sound of discomfort that wrenched itself from her throat made the giant smile. She managed to block his next attack with her legs, but then her knees jarred painfully into her stomach, and she gasped again, louder.

"Stupid little girl," the monster said, leering down at her. "Doesn't know how to fight."

She might have been in a great deal of discomfort, and so tired and sore, from sleeping on the stone floor, that her thoughts were starting to be repetitive, but Thalia still recognized a possible escape route when it looked her straight in the eye.

"Do you think you could beat me," she asked, struggling to sit up. "In a fight?"

The Laistrygonians grunted, a noise which might have been a very gruff laugh, and stared down at her patronizingly. "I could beat you at anything," he said, slowly and carefully, like forming the sentence was the most difficult thing he had done in a long time. "You are a very small girl."

Thalia wasn't sure if the monster thought she was "very small" because she was curled up, into a ball, or because she was floundering in an incredibly large wedding dress. It didn't matter either way, though, just as long as the Laistrygonians was stupid, and continued to believe that he could easily beat her.

"Anything?" She asked, trying to use the wall to help her right herself.

"Anything," the large monster mimicked, a stupid grin on his face.

Thalia wondered how she should handle the next part of the conversation. If she could pull it off, she would have a chance at freedom. If she failed, well...she would have to continue to sit on a stone floor, waiting for her former best friend to decide her fate.

"A fight," she said slowly, hoping the monster hadn't forgotten what they were talking about. "You think you can beat me in a _fair _fight?"

The Laistrygonians nodded, his head bobbing up and down much faster then necessary. "Yes," he said, still nodding. "I can beat you in a fair fight."

Thalia, who had finally managed to sit up, twisted around until her bound ankles were facing toward the over-sized monster. "Untie me," she ordered, hoping the direct command would be easier for the Laistrygonians to follow than a plea. "Then we can fight, and you can prove that you can beat me."

For one, glorious moment, Thalia thought the Laistrygonians was going to do it. She thought he was going to untie her legs, and she was going to have a shot at escaping. And then someone had to show-up and ruin her chances.

"Brant," a voice interrupted, stopping the Laistrygonians just as he was reaching for Thalia's bounds. "You are dismissed."

Luke spoke calmly, but Thalia could tell that he was enraged. He was angry that she had almost escaped. He was angry that she had been well on her way to convincing one of his guards to, no matter how unwittingly, let her go.

And when he was angry, he was dangerous.

* * *

"What about project Eagle?" Someone asked, their voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.

"What about it?" Another person hissed, and Thalia recognized the voice as Luke's.

"Lord Prometheus wants to know if you need Atlas' help," the other voice, definitely female, Thalia decided, answered. "He is getting impatient."

"_No_," Luke retorted, immediately. "I do not require Atlas'...assistance."

"Are you sure?" The girl asked, and Thalia thought she sounded frightened. "Lord Prometheus is _very _anxious to move on, to step two of phase two."

There was an awkward pause, and Thalia wondered why the two were talking in absolute darkness. They weren't fugitives, they were soldiers.

"And, uh," Luke cleared his throat, then sighed. "What _is _step two of phase two?"

"I don't know, Commander Castellan," the voice said, apologetically. "Lord Prometheus hasn't told me."

"Join the club," Luke muttered, and Thalia figured he had to be extraordinarily frustrated to have said something so...Mortal.

"What should I," the female inhaled sharply, and Thalia wondered why she was so obviously nervous. "What should I tell Lord Prometheus your standings are project Eagle? He'll ask in the morning, after breakfast."

"Tell him that I have finished," Luke said grimly.

"Thank you," she girl said, and Thalia imagined that she could see the other female bowing. "Lord Prometheus will be pleased with your work, Commander Castellan."

"Yes, well," there was the sound of the door closing, and Thalia assumed the girl had left. "He had better be."

Hearing Luke's footfalls on the stone, Thalia closed her blue eyes, and forced her body to go slack. Somehow, she didn't think Luke would appreciate her eavesdropping on his secret, midnight conversation.

To her surprise, instead of going back to his bed, Luke turned on the floor lamp beside his desk. And then, instead of sitting down at his desk, and doing the work he was forever grumbling about, he walked toward her. "Project Eagle," he muttered, and Thalia felt the slightest of breezes as he knelt down, in front of her. "What am I going to do with you?"

With a start, Thalia realized that _she _was project Eagle. Why else would he be staring at her, and talking quietly to himself about the mysterious project? Thalia didn't catch most of it, just something about Atlas being a worse alternative.

"Grace? Grace, wake-up," Luke pushed her shoulder, and Thalia slowly cracked her eyes open, doing her best to pretend she had been asleep the whole time.

"What?" She muttered, hoping she sounded sleepy.

"I swear, Thalia," he whispered, and Thalia blinked in surprised: he had used her real name. "I'm not backstabbing you." A grim smile descended over his face, like he was laughing at a dark, demonic sort of inside joke. "Not this time."

_Front stabbing_, Thalia recalled, remembering that, during one of their competitive sparing matches, Luke had informed her that _true friends _didn't backstab each other: they attacked from the front, in plain view. Hence, front stabbing.

But this time, they weren't playing; this was for real. No matter which side of her he stabbed, something unpleasant was going to happen to her. "What're you talking about?" She asked, retreating as far back as she could. "What're you going to do?"

Luke didn't answer. He didn't have to.

His hands were as icy cold as the stone floor, but Thalia's silver Hunter's band made up for the loss of heat. It was warm: giving her a warning. Rapidly, the temperature of the metal rose to become moderately uncomfortable. Then it was _burning _her.

And then it was gone.

* * *

**AN: **I am going to assume that anyone who knows what a Hunter is, and what the terms for being one are, will understand what happened.


	8. That's the Way the Money Goes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor claim to own, anything recognizable from the _Percy Jackson _series; and Greek mythology belongs to the Greeks. The plot, Ella, Jade, Clark, Anita, and Michel, however, are mine.

**Spelling/Grammar: **As always, any helpful CC, especially concerning spelling and/or grammar, is most appreciated.

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"_Status quo, you know, is Latin for 'the mess we're in.'" _

**Ronald Reagan**

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Luke rarely made decisions fueled by emotion. He liked to plan everything he did, down to the very last move. He enjoyed the leisure of knowing that he had accounting for everything that could possibly go wrong, and knew how to deal with it, should it happen. There were many nights that he went sleepless, staying up to ungodly hours, scheming. But the hard work payed off: his plans had failed less than five times.

He was very proud, too, that he seldom did anything without the promise of a reward. A real reward: money, power, allies. He never did work for insignificant or sparse tokens. Unless it was personal business. And, because of his logical way of thinking, he hardly ever dealt with his nearest and dearest issues himself. Emotion might get in the way. His price for forcibly disbanding Thalia from the Hunters? A search party hunting for his father.

But now, looking down at her, he wondered if he should have asked for more.

She had given-in so easily. She slept often now, deeply, and without stirring for hours on end. She no longer poked at her food before she ate it, and her eyes had stopped trailing him. There were no more snarky or rude comments, and she refused to meet his eyes.

Not that Luke wanted her to. He didn't want to see her eyes: see her defeat. He had never imagined her like this: weak, helpless, unwilling to get-up and go on, completely vanquished. He had never seen her like that before, and he hoped never to again. It was so unlike her. So Mortal.

Nothing was going the way he had expected, actually. Prometheus wasn't telling him anything, and it was beginning to become infinitely frustrating. Taking Thalia from the Hunters hadn't been anything like he had presumed. She hadn't sworn, or said anything; her mouth had been pressed into a firm little line the entire time. "The entire time," had been over so quickly, that Luke'd had half-thought that, when he looked up, the silver lieutenant's band would still be pressed against the other half-blood's skin.

He wouldn't have thought that something so devoid of emotion and expeditious - - there had been no kissing, no talking - - could cause so much damage.

But no matter what he thought, the deed had been done, and there were other things to worry about. Straightening, Luke pushed Thalia to the back of his thoughts, and slid from his room, ignoring her sleeping form on the cold, stone floor. The scouts sent to Texas and Colorado were due to return later in the afternoon, and after he interviewed them, he had to inspect the hunting party about to go after his father.

There was no time in Luke Castellan's emotionless and logical life for any type, or quantity, of sorrow.

* * *

"And after you are finished with the hunting party inspection and send-off, there is a council meeting in the Inner Sanctum. Lord Prometheus wishes you to attend it, Commander Castellan."

Luke glanced over at Ella, and narrowed his eyes. He was accustom to Prometheus' head secretary informing him of any last-minute gatherings, not Ella. The daughter of Nyx was _his _spy, she had no affiliates with Prometheus.

The young, black-eyed woman caught his suspicious look, and shrugged. The movement was odd, her shoulders jerking up at an uncomfortable angle. "He had need of me in his rooms last night, and told me on the way out." Her eyes widened, and a look of fear crossed briefly over her face. "Commander Castellan," she added hastily. As if he would kill her over a title.

Luke leaned back in his chair, resting his neck. He had been bent over the files the scouts had given him for hours. The hunting party was expecting him soon, but he had been inclined to go over the information right away. He liked to stay on top of things.

For a brief handful of moments, he scrutinized the daughter of Nyx. She was above-average looking, he decided, with long black hair, a slim build, and gentle curves. She wasn't extraordinary, though, and Prometheus had quite a lot of girls to chose from.

"Did he tell you more about Project Eagle?" He asked bluntly, playing absently with a pencil in one hand.

"No," Ella shook her head, and took a single, wavering step backward. "He didn't, Commander Castellan."

Luke continued to keep his level gaze on her. He saw through her smokescreen easily: not only was she not drop-dead gorgeous, but she blended. Luke doubted the titan had even noticed the half-blood's looks; she would know what clothes to wear; which ones would keeping any wondering eyes from seeing anything other than loose fabric. No, if she was telling the truth about her whereabouts, she had been with Prometheus for another reason. And the way she had twitched; he had almost missed the tiny movement, but it had been there, none-the-less. She was lying when she said the titan had told her nothing more about Project Eagle.

"May I go, Commander Castellan?" The young woman asked, suddenly. She was rocking gently on her heels, and her hands were resting in front of her, fingers intwined. She was doing her best not to fidget. Perhaps she had somewhere she needed to be.

"Of course," Luke said pleasantly, waving her out. He waited several long seconds, keeping his question locked away, pressed against the roof of his mouth and his eager tongue until she had almost reached the door. Waiting until her pale fingers were inches from the brass door-knob, and she thought she was in the clear. "Oh, and Ella?"

The half-blood turned around, surprise glittering in her dark eyes: he had never called her by her first name before. "Yes, Commander Castellan?"

"Do you know anything about Iris Messages not working?"

"No, Commander Castellan," Ella shook her head, then lowered her hand to the brass knob. "I don't." She departed quickly, after that: fervent to leave the room.

Luke allowed a slow, serpent-like smile to spread across his lips. He pulled a drachma carefully from his pocket, and flipped it up, into the air. She had been lying. Ella the spy knew something unusual about Iris Messages.

* * *

"You have all been instructed how to go about detaining a god, I presume?"

All twelve of the hunting party's members nodded, and many hoisted their crystalized bronze weapons a little higher, either consciously or unconsciously attempting to get Luke to acknowledge that they were prepared. "Yes, Commander," one answered, and then, after glancing quickly at his comrades, "Castellan." The man drew back a few steps the moment Luke's light blue eyes turned to look at him. Luke ignored him after that: he disliked cowards.

"Commander Castellan?"

"Yes?" Luke analyzed the speaker, but drew a blank. He was one of the fresh recruits, not someone Luke had ever met before.

"Does your father have a preferred appearance?"

Luke generously let another trembling member of the party explain to the new recruit that the unworthy god Hermes was _never _referred to as Commander Castellan's father; and that the mischievous god had many preferred forms, but two of the most used were a jogger and a postman. There was something about the trembling member that intrigued Luke, and made him want to let the man continue his explanation, instead of cutting him off. He looked very familiar, but Luke could not remember his face from either the training grounds or the Inner Sanctum meetings. Perhaps he had a sibling who served as one of the many servants, and he simply looked a great deal like them.

"Commander!" A voice shattered Luke's thoughts, and he let his analyzation of the man fall to the wayside. "Commander Castellan, please, come with me. And hurry!"

The runner was a tall, skinny boy in his mid or late-teens. He was a nobody, yet to prove himself in battle and be allowed a weapon. He was a late bloomer, and had no right speaking to Luke; at least, not out-right. But there he was, doubled over, glancing at the son of Hermes expectantly. "Please," he added, again. "There's a girl loose in the courtyard just outside your room."

Luke didn't sprint off, as the runner was probably expecting; instead, he sliced through the air with the edge of his hand, and stepped through the portal he had made. Even he had to admit, there were a few perks that came with being a son of Hermes. He didn't have time to think about those, however, because his mind was already occupied by one, overwhelming thought: _Thalia_.

He stumbled as he dropped from the portal and onto the stone flooring of the outdoor courtyard. The out-of-doors space was full of demigods, monsters, and, to Luke's surprise, the top extraction team- - Jade, a daughter of Antheia, Anita, a daughter of Peitho, Clark, grandson of Mania and Eris, and one of Luke's half-brothers, Michel- - none of them were watching him, though, and he was able to recover his balance unheeded by the others. It was only once he had regained his footing that he looked up, toward what the rest of them were all staring and pointing at.

_Thalia_.

The black-haired girl was twenty feet, at least, in the air, and protected by a quickly expanding dome of crackling electricity. Someone in the crowd shot an arrow at her, but the blue forcefield absorbed the weapon before it could hit its target. Dr. Thorn, the leader of the manticores, sent a volley of needle-like darts over the heads of the spectators, but to no avail. Yet another bystander flung a heavy bronze discuss at the carnivorous shield.

For a moment, Luke watched the scene, unmoving. After the discuss, however, he stepped forward and tapped Jade, the daughter of Antheia on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he didn't use the same tone he used with his spies and servants: extraction teams were incredibly important, and Jade was the leader of the best one.

The girl was a few years younger than him, and a good head shorter, but she didn't blink when she saw that it was him who had spoken. "Yes, Commander?"

Luke eyed Thalia, who had just begun to shoot spears of lightening at buildings. "Wait a little while; it shouldn't take more than a half-hour. She'll burn out eventually, or realize how high up she is. You can fetching her down after that."

Jade nodded. "I can do that, Commander. Anything else?"

Luke sent Thalia another long look, then narrowed his eyes at the extraction team's caption. "Yes, actually: find out how she escaped."

The daughter of Antheia gave a short, clipped nod, and bowed slightly. "Consider it done." She didn't wait for his answer, and turned away, heading back toward her team members before he could speak.

Having taken care of the "loose girl," Luke once again cut through the air with the edge of his hand. This time, he stumbled into his room, and he was alone. Moving quickly, he entered his bathroom and turned the sink's facet. Within minutes, he had managed to get suitable rainbow running, and he dug into his pocket. A moment later, a golden drachma was flying through the air, and piercing the pristine arch of colors.

"Artemis, the Hunters camp," he commanded, saying the four words so quickly he didn't have time to change his mind.

Shortly, the blur of images and spots of mutated hues disappeared, and a clear, gently swaying picture of a young girl with auburn hair and silver eyes replaced it. Luke was almost surprised: he had been under the impression that Iris Messages were no longer working. Or that, at the very least, not for deserters of the gods.

Clearing his throat, Luke waited for the moon goddess to notice his presence. It didn't take long, she just had to look up.

"Castellan," the silver and yellow eyes narrowed, and the small girl glared at him. "Is there something you want?"

Take quick notice of the gushing river behind the immortal, Luke frowned. He was expecting Artemis to yell at him, and demand an explanation. "Haven't you gotten the lieutenant's band yet?" He queried, hoping to press the conversation in the desired direction. He wanted to explain why Thalia was no longer a Hunter, and then, if he felt better about it, gloat about the current status quo.

The goddess grimaced, and held up the silver band. "Yes. Who told you that she had died?"

Luke balked. "Died?" His forehead crinkled, and his eyebrows drew together as he continued to frown. "She's not dead."

Artemis gave him a long, hard look. "Chiron told me that she had gone on an exceptionally dangerous mission, and the chances she returned alive were slim. He mentioned cyclops."

Ignoring the reference to the one-eyes monster, Luke's frown deepened. "She didn't go on any mission," he insisted, raising his left hand. "She came back to Mt. Othrys with me because we got-"

The Iris Message was cut abruptly short.

"I am so sorry, _Commander_," a deep, authoritative voice issued from directly behind the demigod, son of Hermes. "I thought I had made it clear that the marriage between you and the princess was to be kept strictly secretive."

Luke turned, very slowly, and shuffled nervously. He had heard Prometheus use that tone before: nothing good ever happened next. "Transport us to the holding cells," the titan commanded, crossing his arms stiffly. "Perhaps a visit with your lovely wife would do you some good."

Irritated with himself for not protesting, Luke did as he was told. As he sliced the air, felt the black and blindingly bright light wrap around him, and tumble out at the other end, he had only one thought on his mind: how had Prometheus known what he was doing?

The titan unlocked the thirteenth door they passed, and ushered Luke inside. "Isn't it lucky," he commented, and for the first time, Luke understood the general frustration with his twisted humor. "That you travel the same way the gods do: by air. You can't get out of a windowless cell, with an air-tight door, can you?"

Luke nodded glumly. "Lucky," he repeated. He had heard of high-ranking officers being forced to spend time in prison cells after they ticked titans off, but he himself had never before been subjected to such humiliation. It would be a difficult road-bump to get over.

"Do have fun," Prometheus called, sliding the door back into place and locking it. Anything he said after that was lost to Luke's ears. He was no longer paying attention to the titan, because something even more threatening had caught his interest.

Thalia's eyes didn't look the least bit defeated.

* * *

**AN: **And the story goes on... Reviews are, always, welcome.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a happy holiday season, and the start of a great new year!


	9. Pop! Goes the Weasel

**Disclaimer: **I neither claim to own, nor own anything or anyone recognizable from _The Percy Jackson _series. Plot and extra characters are, however, mine.

**Spelling and Grammar: **Any and all help is appreciated.

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"Never make friends with people who are above or below you in status. Such friendships will never give you any happiness."_

**Chanakya**

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"You...ruined..._everything_!" When she swung, Thalia made contact. Her fist wasn't blazing, and she knew she couldn't hurt him, but seeing Luke slam his head against the steel door still provided her with a moderate amount of satisfaction.

"Thanks," Luke rubbed his jaw, and rolled his eyes. "I _have_ always been good at ruining the livelihoods of other people."

The other half-blood didn't appreciate his sarcasm. "Let me go!" Blue sparks wrapped thickly around her forearms, forming protective gauntlets. Thalia stepped menacingly forward, blue tendrils snaking and pooling around Luke's feet as they dripped from her fingertips.

"Do you think," Luke began, his own face setting, "that I am capable of leaving?"

Thalia flicked her tongue momentarily across her lips, breathing hard. "That girl who brought me here, she said you'd come down to see me."

"Jade," Luke nodded slightly. "How _did _you manage to escape?"

Glare deepening, Thalia reached out, and shoved him. "Look," she snapped, extending her wrists so he could see the deep, ugly burn marks. The electricity gathered on her arms was helping to heal them, but Luke could still see flecks of metal buried in her skin, and the smell was nauseating.

"They couldn't be broken by any measure of strength," Luke stopped, a subtle wave of admiration lapping at the corners of his mind.

"So I burned through," Thalia finished, still glaring.

"Ingenious."

Thalia slammed his shoulders one last time, sending him staggering into another wall, and then backed away. "And to think, if I'd thought of it a little sooner- -"

"Do you think I wanted to?" Luke was across the small cell in just moments, and Thalia was the one pinned against a wall. His arms barred her escape, and she trembled, her fear even greater than before. "Do you think I had any choice?"

"You always have a choice," her voice was hallow and scared, but Thalia did her best to keep up her defiant glaring. Her body was wrecked by fear and tremors of that terror, but she wasn't going to let him see that. "Nobody's brainwashed you. You _always _have a choice."

"Oh, actually, you're right." Luke put on a sarcastic frown, and pretended to ponder some, nonexistent option. "I could've had Atlas do it."

Thalia stiffened. "Atlas?"

"Yes," Luke shifted, moving his arms to his sides, but not stepping back. "He's been waiting for you. Ever since I kept Annabeth away from him, he's had this idea that-"

"Annabeth?" For a second, the fear left Thalia's eyes. This was something new. "You protected _Annabeth_?"

"Of course," Luke shrugged. "She's more than decent looking, you know."

"But she's only seven!" Thalia blurted, her eyes widening when she realized the mistake she had made. "I mean," she swallowed, hissing out a sigh, "fourteen."

Luke smiled fleetingly. "Seven, twelve, fourteen."

"No," Thalia shook her, shaking off fond memories of happier times. "Fourteen, sixteen, and twenty-one."

For a moment, Luke didn't quite understood what she meant, and then he nodded, once. "That's right, you're sixteen now. Happy birthday." His attempt at lightening the mood didn't go unnoticed.

"That's right," Thalia managed a sickeningly sweet smile that she instantly loathed. "I'm a minor. You should go to jail."

Luke laughed. A coarse, patronizing laugh, but a laugh all the same. "You know we don't abide by _that _justice system, Thals."

"Don't." Thalia lashed out again, feeling the need to attack something. "Don't call me that. Don't call me anything. Don't talk to me at all."

They stood in silence for awhile. Thalia concentrating on healing her burns, and not looking directly at Luke. After a little bit, she sat down on the cold, unforgiving concrete, and crossed her arms. The fabric of her top bit into and chafed the bloody wounds, but she needed a way to conceal her appendages' violent convulsing. She was numb. Every bit of her was screaming to run, to fight, hit, move, _anything_. But she sat quietly, and blocked those thoughts. She would ignore him. She would ignore her growing claustrophobia. She would not move. Moving was a sign of weakness.

And she was not weak.

"Should I've let Atlas do it instead?" Luke's words were sudden, and rushed. "Would that have been better? Less...personal?"

"No." One syllable. Thalia's favorite word, in any language. "You should have let me go."

Luke glared at her, rage starting to wake. "What if that wasn't possible?" He snapped, dropping to kneel in front of her. Thalia shrank before him, bad memories haunting her. The uncontrollable, jerky movements of her lithe form worsened. "I couldn't let you go, Thal_ia_. It wasn't an option."

Thalia raised her head an inch. Not enough to meet his eyes, but enough to look a little less frightened and helpless. "You could have. You could have, if you wanted to, _Luke_."

He slapped her.

"I-" Thalia didn't finish her sentence just then. The pain and surprise from his slap appeared, and then, rage followed. She lunged, and for a brief, handful of seconds, he was pinned to the floor, and she had the upper hand. But then she was the one on the bottom, and he was glaring at her. "-hate you," she ended, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"Really?" Luke pushed her wrists to the ground, his own rage pounding against the inside of his skull. "I never would have guessed."

Her fear was fast returning, wrapping her in a dense, unbreakable cocoon. The air was much too warm, and the floor much too cold. The weight he was putting on her was too heavy, and her lungs felt like they might collapse. Every breath was a ragged, desperate struggle. "You didn't have to do it," she persisted, pushing the argument further than she knew it was safe to go. "You could have lied."

"I couldn't-"

"Or we could have left, together." Everything had a sort of fuzz around it. Not red, just blurry. Streaks where there hadn't been streaks before. Every mouthful of air was slick with dust and grim. Thalia wondered how she had ever breathed before. "You could have let me go. We could have gone back to Camp. You didn't have to..." she trailed off, the effort of speaking having become too much.

Luke relinquished his hold on her wrists, and gingerly slid off of her. "I didn't have a choice," he repeated, trying to meet her gaze. Thalia everted her eyes. "I didn't want to, but I _had _to. I'm a soldier, Thals, and soldiers have to take orders."

"Orders," Thalia whispered, her fear, along with her vision, beginning to fade. "I mean less to you than orders."

Luke wondered how the conversation had come to that conclusion. "I don't... You're not..." he broke-off, unsure of where he was headed.

"At least you saved Annabeth," Thalia continued, her voice sleepy, her words slurred.

"Look," Luke sighed, and picked up one of her trembling hands. Thalia barely registered his movement, and promptly forgot to tug her fingers out of his grasp. "If I wanted to, then would I have Iris Messaged Artemis?"

Using the last of her conscious strength, Thalia turned her head slightly, and raised her eyes to meet his. Ice blue and electric bore into each other, both looking for truth in the other set. "You IMed Artemis?"

Luke nodded. "To tell her why you weren't at Camp, or back with her. That's why I'm here. Prometheus caught me."

"Prometheus caught you, huh?" Thalia attempted a grin, but the corners of her mouth refused to move. "I thought you were his favorite."

Luke opened his mouth, and his tongue suddenly felt heavy. The air was surprisingly difficult to breathe, and when he moved his hand, the movement was slow and dull. As if he were swimming through melted lead. "I thought so too," he responded, wondering why his brain didn't seem effected by the numbness in his limbs.

"Smart enough to put drugs in the air?" Thalia asked, her lids closing heavily.

"Who?"

"Prometheus," she whispered, drawing in one, long breath. "I think he pumped something into the air. I'm physical wreaked," she continued, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her everything would be over much faster if she just submitted to sleep.

"You'd feel the effects before me," Luke finished, lying down beside her when his head became unbearably hard to hold up.

"Exactly." It was extremely hard to understand anything Thalia said, after that. Her words were just too slurred. Shortly thereafter, she gave-in to sleep and drifted off, leaving Luke to face the drugs all alone.

"'Exactly,'" Luke repeated to himself. Almost without realizing that he'd done it, he tightened his grip on Thalia's hand. She wasn't his ally, not by a long shot, but if Prometheus was drugging him, then the titan was his enemy.

And there was always strength in numbers.

"Unless you're an extraction team," Luke whispered. And then laughed at his own joke.

* * *

"When will they come to?" A voice asked.

"Soon," this voice was much deeper, gravely, but powerful. It belonged, Thalia decided, to someone she ought to fear. It belonged to someone who's very existence demanded respect.

There was a little fear, a big fear, actually, that paralyzed Thalia's mind. As the deep, gravely, and powerful voice said something about being patient, and the other, lighter voice responded with, "of course, Lord Prometheus, sir.," she realized just how horrible the situation could be. The lighter voice, Thalia thought she remembered it from somewhere, but she couldn't quite place it. And Prometheus... well, she knew the myths.

"I'll leave you, then," Prometheus rumbled, and Thalia barely contained a flinch. "But remember, daughter of Nyx, you are under strict orders not to hurt either of them."

Thalia thought she heard the daughter of Nyx take one, tiny step closer to her. "Yes, Lord Prometheus, I remember."

"Good." A door slammed, and the titan left the room.

"'Strict orders,'" the daughter of Nyx repeated. "I'm under strict orders."

"What did he promise you?" Luke's smooth voice cut into the silence, and the daughter of Nyx gasped. Thalia frowned, and realized that her fingers were being gripped by someone. Luke.

"He didn't... How did you..." the girl composed herself. "That's none of your business."

Carefully, slowly, Thalia opened her eyes. Just partway, though, she didn't want either of the two other half-bloods to notice that she was awake.

The daughter of Nyx was trying to keep her unnaturally pale face unreadable, and her coal black eyes were fixed on a spot next to Thalia. Luke, probably. "I don't have to tell you anything," the black-eyed girl said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm not your spy anymore, Castellan."

"What?" There was a half-laugh from beside her, and Thalia's throat tightened. That was definitely Luke. "No more "commander?'"

"No," the girl shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut for one, long moment. "Not anymore."

A pause descended over the room. Thalia breathed slowly and evenly, trying to maintain the guise that she was sleeping. Luke's fingers twitched against her palm, and she had to focus very hard on staying still. The daughter of Nyx stood quietly, unmoving.

"What did he promise you?" This time, Luke's voice was softer, gentler. He sounded coaxing, instead of demanding, and Thalia relaxed her breathing, just a bit. If he was concentrating on the other girl, he would be less likely to notice her slightly ragged breaths.

The daughter of Nyx sighed, and swallowed. Then shook her head.

"Come on, Ella, he must have promised you _something_!" The blond half-blood's voice was still soft, but there was a commanding tone buried under all the layers of gentle probing and unspoken sympathy. Thalia wondered why this girl's, Ella's, motive was so important.

Ella sighed. "My...sister," she said finally, heaving another, heavy sigh. "He said he'd get her for me."

"Get her for you?"

The daughter of Nyx nodded. "Yes, Co-" she broke-off, "Castellan. Lord Prometheus promised me that he'd bring me my sister."

"Huh," Luke shifted, and Thalia stiffened. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"Yes," Ella nodded, looking wistful. "And a brother, too. Miles. He's one of the soldiers you sent out, after the god Hermes."

"Oh," Thalia felt Luke sit up, and swing himself off the bed she was lying on. "He was the one who looked familiar."

Ella took a step back, and Thalia shivered involuntarily as Luke appeared in her line of sight. "Probably," the daughter of Nyx whispered, backing up a little more. "We look a bit alike. We're twins."

"Let me guess," Luke walked forward a couple steps, then stopped, smiling. He turned a few inches toward Thalia, and the female half-blood knew he had realized that she was no longer asleep. "When you left Camp, your brother came with you, but your sister refused to join you."

Ella nodded. "Yes," she whispered miserably. And then, so softly Thalia barely heard her, "I miss her."

"Ah," Luke smirked, and Thalia flinched. "So the little, backstabbing weasel has room in her heart to miss someone. I'm touched."

"I'm a backstabbing weasel?" Ella shook her head, and Thalia was surprised to see disgust wash over her features. "It takes one to know one, Castellan. Look at that poor girl!" She threw her arm out, and pointed at Thalia, glaring steadily at Luke as she did. "You ripped her entire future away, without a second thought! You're a monster."

Luke lunged at her, and the black-eyed girl fled, tugging open the same door Prometheus had left by, and fleeing down the hall. The blond son of Hermes sprung instantly after her, and Thalia's mind raced. Sitting up, she observed the room more closely. It was nice. Pale blue paint covered the walls, and the furniture was all made of very upscale wood. Thalia frowned. It was hardly the prison she had been expecting.

"Traitor!"

"Backstabber!"

Thalia lurched out of the king-sized bed, and darted to the door. This was her chance to escape. Luke would be distracted by Ella, and vise versa. If she didn't make a run for it now, then she would be letting a perfect opportunity slid by. Bracing herself for whatever horrors might await her, Thalia charge through the door, and pounded down the first escape route she saw. Stairs.

The first level of the house wasn't anymore gruesome than the original room, and as she sped toward the back door, Thalia frowned. The house was confusing her.

Pausing only to yank the door open, Thalia dashed out of the house, and into the backyard. She was just in time to see Prometheus, way on the other side of the snowy yard, wave his hand, take two steps forward, grab one of Ella's hands, take two steps back, wave his hand again, and disappear.

Skidding to a stop, Thalia narrowed her eyes, and watched, unabashedly amused, as Luke slammed into nothing, and fell to the ground, only inches from where the titan and daughter of Nyx had vanished.

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**AN: **Sorry for such a long wait, I'll try to go back to updating a little more frequently. Thank you, everyone who reviewed, your comments are always appreciated. Also, thank you so, _so _much, whoever nominated _Forcing the Stars to Align _for the Veritas A.U. Award! I'm very glad you enjoyed my story enough to think that it deserves to be nominated.


	10. Here's the Church and Here's the Steeple

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize for either the _Percy Jackson _series, or Greek mythology. Plot and OCs are, however, mine.

**Spelling and Grammar: **I am grateful for any and all help.

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"_There is nothing more important than a good, safe, secure home." _

**Rosalynn Carter**

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Staring out the closest window, Chiron's face hardened. There were decisions in life that were difficult to make. This wasn't one of them. "And you shall deliver her, unharmed?" He cared nothing for the girl, but it was important that she remained alive.

"Of course," Prometheus nodded, and glanced slowly, approvingly, around the room in the Big House. "You were able to rid yourself of Dionysius. I am impressed."

Chiron shrugged. "He's always ready for a day off."

"If only Artemis were as easily distracted."

Chiron whirled on the titan. "What happened?" he demanded, color heating his face. "You said everything was going according to plan!"

"Yes..." the titan trailed off, glancing lingeringly out the window. Shadows played across his scarred skin, and a tight-lipped smile stationed itself firmly across his mouth. "I overestimated Castellan's heartlessness, and underestimated his need to brag."

"What did he tell her?" Chiron managed, grinding his teeth. The plan. The perfectly laid plan. He couldn't bare to see it unravel at the first snag. "What does she know?"

Prometheus breathed steadily out, through his nose. "The moon goddess is... wiser than she looks. At first, she will assume Castellan was trying to distract her. But I fear that, eventually, she will realize he was telling the truth. The daughter of Zeus is strong; it would be remarkably unfortunate for her to have been defeated by a handful of cyclopses."

Chiron drew the curtain across the window, suddenly overcome by the fear that someone would see the titan and question the security of Camp. "What do we do?"

The titan smiled, cracked lips curling back, forming an ugly, sadistic grin. "You will fetch me the girl, as planned. I will bring her to her sister, as planned. Once that is done, I will have the moon goddess captured. She will prove useful."

Licking his lips, Chiron offered a doubtful smile. "Capture Artemis? Kronos tried that once already, and-"

"I am not Kronos," Prometheus said, grin disappearing. "And I know just the people to preform such a task."

Chiron sighed. "Who could you possibly have in mind? Artemis is a goddess; she _can't _be detained by mortal minions, and she would recognize an enemy god on sight."

The grin did not return, but a small, mocking smile formed. "Not a mortal, centaur, a demigod. You remember, I presume, a certain daughter of Antheia?"

Chiron's face paled rapidly, and he quivered, right hoof pawing the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said finally, speaking barely above a whisper.

"No?" Prometheus smiled. He loomed larger than life. "You don't remember dear Jade Foster?" Chiron shook his head much too fiercely. "Good," the titan continued to smile, teeth barred. "Perhaps she doesn't remember you."

"Perhaps," the centaur whispered, complexion still pallor.

"I will be back in two days," Prometheus continued, ignoring his companion's unease. "I will pick the girl up then. In the meantime, I will prepare an extraction team to bring the moon goddess to me. The daughter of Antheia is the leader of the best team we have, and she will lead the excursion."

Chiron nodded, feeling slightly out of breath. "Of course," he answered quietly.

"Very well, then." Prometheus smiled, and left the room. He had enjoyed the centaur's reaction. It had been perfect.

Chiron waited until the titan had disappeared from view, and then sunk into his wheelchair. Jade Foster, a daughter of Antheia. He hadn't forgotten her; never would be able to forget her. Her screams still echoed in his darkest dreams.

* * *

They were standing by the lake when he found them. The dark son of Hades, and the dark daughter of Nyx. They weren't talking, weren't touching. Chiron wondered what on earth they were doing.

"Is there something you want?" Nico asked, not turning around.

Chiron took a step back. "I need Elenna to come with me. There's something we should talk about."

The black-haired, black-eyed girl turned around, and the centaur was surprised at how loosely her green hoodie hung around her torso. "Talk about what?" she asked. Her eyes were large, staring up at him curiously. Her skin was so pale. She looked like a gaunt little ghost. A ghost with a very straight nose, and no difference between its irises and pupils.

"Your siblings."

That got her attention. The daughter of Nyx slouched her shoulders forward, and looked away, across the lake. "I don't have any siblings," she said simply, her eyes staying glued on the faraway horizon.

"Elenna," Chiron shuffled toward the girl, cutting a wide circle around Nico. There was no excuse: there was something about the Italian boy that freaked him out. "It's alright." He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, and sighed faintly when she shrugged it off. He liked Percy: the son of Poseidon had a very limited range of emotions. He was relatively easy to deal with. "Their bad choices aren't your fault."

The girl met his eyes unblinkingly. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her eyes expressionless. "I don't have any siblings."

Nico, as if picking-up on Chiron's impatience, moved to stand closer to the girl, just a few inches away. "Don't you have a Prophecy Child to be talking to?" he asked.

Chiron allowed himself a moment of gloating. "No. Not anymore," he sent the son of Hades a long, triumphant look. "Weren't you here? Your cousin, Thalia, is the new Prophecy Child."

An unnamed emotion darted across the boy's dark face, and then disappeared. "Right," he rolled his eyes. "The Huntress magically agreed to marry the traitor."

"Exactly."

The girl's fingers curled and uncurled, forming a fist, and then releasing it. "I'm leaving," she said, taking a few steps. "Are you coming?"

Chiron stepped forward. "Well-"

"Not you!" she snapped, her voice almost panicked. Chiron frowned. The girl drew her jacket closer around her stick-like frame, and her inky eyes locked with his, fear reflecting in the dark pools. "Nico," she breathed, looking away.

"Yeah," the son of Hades cast the centaur a suspicious look, and then started on his way, leading the girl away. "I'm coming."

Chiron watched them go, silently pondering. It was only when the girl looked back, fear still alive in her eyes, that he realized something. "Oh," he paused for a moment, and checked to make sure none of the campers were within hearing rage. There were no half-bloods around, but plenty of Naiads. "...Dart..." he said finally, waving awkwardly to the lake residents. And then he was galloping away, back to the Big House.

* * *

"Remind me again, why is it Castellan's favorite spy was a child of Nyx?"

Prometheus shrugged, swirling a glass of wine lazily in a long-steamed glass. "I believe he said that she said that "the night has ears." Why? Is there an issue?"

"The girl," Chiron paused, trying not to rush his words. Why had he been so careless? "She knows."

"Knows what?" the titan asked, interest spreading to cover his facial features. "Not about our plan, I hope."

"No," the centaur shook his head. "Not about the plan. About... Jade Foster. And the... others."

"There were others?" Prometheus' words were sarcastic, and conjured unwelcome images in the old centaur's mind. "Not any of _my _children, I hope."

Chiron shifted from one hoof to another, and looked at the rug. "No," he answered shortly.

"Chiron," the titan raised the glass to his mouth, and took a long sip. "I know when I'm being lied to."

Sighing, Chiron lifted his head, and looked shamefully up at the titan's face. His eyes met with the black, unforgiving sunglasses. "I apologize. It's just that... well, Camp isn't always kind to those of..." he trailed off, approaching a delicate matter.

"The children of titans and minor gods are not seen as equals." Prometheus twirled the glass' steam easily in his fingers. "I know. But why is it, I wonder, that I haven't seen any of them running around your camp? What's happened to them all, Chiron, Trainer of Heros?"

The centaur bowed his head, allowing the doubt of his past actions to overwhelm him for a few seconds. But he was practical. Everything he had done could be justified. Had been justified, before he'd done it. He had no reason to feel either sorrow or shame. "They have been disposed of," he said simply, regaining his composer. His head came back up, and he smiled thinly. "They aren't important, you know. They are like outcasts in our world. The Campers treat them nicely, but no one ever misses them when they disappear."

"Good." Prometheus matched the centaur's narrow smile. "Then it should be easy for you to make the daughter of Nyx vanish."

"Of course," Chiron's eyes bored into the centers of the glass lenses, and held the gaze he imagined staring him down. "Tomorrow, I'll get her for you."

"Yes." The titan set his glass down, and smoothed his jacket. "Tomorrow."

* * *

It was dusk when Chiron left the Big House. It was a chilly night, and he shivered in the swirling mist. It was the perfect night for a dark escapade. It was also quite helpful that the girl never went to the after-dinner campfire. Passing the said campfire and its hoard of singing demigods, Chiron trotted purposefully toward the Hermes cabin. He was in luck: she was the only half-blood there.

"What do you want?" Elenna stood-up slowly, keeping her eyes on his, her skinny body trembling.

"It's aright," the centaur stepped forward, his right hand clutching a loaded syringe in such a way that it was hidden from the girl's view. "I just wanted to return something to you."

The dark girl tried to step around him, to make for the door. He blocked her escape easily. "I didn't lose anything," she protested. Chiron stared at her for a long moment, assessing the situation. She wasn't going to cooperate at all, but he was prepared for that. His problem was time. Soon, other residents of the traveler god's cabin would be returning, and then it would be too late.

"Look here," he said finally, sending her reassuring smile as he talked. "I've got a necklace for you."

"I have one," the girl said, again trying to force her way past the centaur.

"Oh," Chiron chuckled dryly, and tossed his arm out, keeping the girl from leaving. "That's hardly a necklace, it's only got one bead!"

Elenna backed away from him, her oversized eyes darting back and forth, sweeping the room desperately. "I've only been here one summer," she responded, her voice low.

"Hmm," the centaur offered his most charming smile. "And what do you think of Camp, so far, little one?"

"I hate it," the daughter of Nyx was whispering now, and wrapping the fabric of her hoodie so tightly around her that the seams were straining.

"Is that so?" Chiron took a confident step forward, his charming smile taking on a more ominous appearance.

The girl nodded. "It's not a sanctuary for us," she said, once again meeting the centaurs eyes. "It's a welcoming home for _real _demigods; the ones with _real _gods as their parents. It's a deathtrap for the _fake _half-bloods; with _minor _gods as parents."

Chiron took another step forward, his teeth barred in his ugly smile. "Very good," he whispered. "This is no sanctuary for the worthless spawn of useless minors."

The girl took a step forward, and then dropped to the floor, attempting to roll between Chiron's legs and reach the door. The syringe's needle was in her arm before she hit the floor. And the drug had knocked her unconscious less than a minute afterwards.

Sighing in mock regret, Chiron yanked the girl upright. "Always the smart ones," he said, cradling the girl in his arms. "They're always the first to go."

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AN: **Sorry, again, for such a long wait. I was on vacation, and the internet access wasn't the best. This chapter's quote and title are, indeed, suppose to be ironic. Churches are suppose to be safe places, and so's Camp. I'm not going to lecture you about the former; but apparently, the latter isn't.

Also, thank you _so _much, camillexelisabeth, for your lengthy and positive review. I appreciate it very much.


	11. Open the Door and See All the People

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters or anything else mentioned in the _Percy Jackson _series. All other characters and plot are mine.

**Spelling and Grammar: **Pointers are always welcome.

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"_It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun."_

**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

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There were a few mortal pleasures Luke had allowed into his life: friendship, revenge, chess, and alcohol. And in light of his current situation, the blond demigod had decided that his first priority would be to find himself some of the fourth pleasure. Luckily for him, the decent-sized house had a decent-sized refrigerator that was in possession of a more than decent-sized amount of alcohol. Unfortunately for him, the sources of his problems would be with him long after even the worst hangover had passed.

"She might kill me in my sleep if I'm hungover," Luke remarked, cradling a newly opened bottle of bear in his hands. Thalia was outside, and in no danger of hearing his one-sided conversation. "Although," he took a swig out of the bottle, and rolled his eyes. "I think she's going to kill me anyway. Just for the fun of it."

The complete uselessness of talking to a beer bottle aside, Luke thought he was doing all right. Having taken into account the fact that Prometheus had likely bugged the house, Luke had decided it would probably be in his best interest to not spend his time cursing the titan. Since taking on Thalia had been discarded from his list, however, Luke was starting to find himself out of entertainment. There was a TV, but none of the stations came in very well, except the weather channel. And there was only so much of that Luke could take.

Crossing the room to the back door, Luke peered outside. A new layer of snow had carpeted the brown grass, and a sharp wind rippled through the scrawny branches of the few trees. It wasn't the unyielding winter Luke was observing, though, but the hunched-over girl sitting on the far side of the house's yard. Thalia.

Luke sighed. One of the difficulties they'd immediately found with the house was that there was only one bed. One bed and no couches. There were chairs, but none both comfortable and big enough to sleep on; and a thorough search of closets and chests had turned up no extra blankets or pillows. Prometheus had obviously decided to play with them, Luke had decided. The titan would have known, of course, when he was furnishing the place, that nothing in the world could convince Thalia to sleep in the same bed as Luke. Not even the plunging nightly temperatures and occasional snow fall.

"Come on, Thals," Luke said, pushing the door open and starting across the yard. "It's cold, and the weatherman said it's going to snow, again. I'll sleep on the floor, tonight."

Thalia turned, her eyes full of anger and hate, distrust and scorn, and clearly said the only word Luke had been able to coax out of her in the timespan of eight days. "No."

Sighing, Luke sat down beside her, trying his best to ignore the snow that soaked into his pants. "It's warm inside," he said, observing her shivering body and blue lips. She came in two or four times a day, to use the bathroom and warm up enough to not get frostbitten, but her visits were short, and there were tiny icicles growing in her hair.

"No," Thalia repeated, jerking her head from side to side.

For the moment, Luke decided the conversation wasn't going to go anywhere, and shrugged. "All right," he said, and extended his hand to her. "Beer?"

Thalia eyed him suspiciously for a long minute, and then excepted the bottle. The action surprised Luke a bit, since in the years before, Thalia had always been avidly against drinking. Now, though, she seemed quite content to down more than half the bottle in only a few swallows. Handing the bottle back, Thalia nodded at him, then hugged her knees. Apparently, his offering was not enough to break her silence.

Sighing, Luke finished off the beer.

A couple hours later, neither demigod had moved. A light snow had started to swirl around them, but the fluffy flakes promised to turn into a raging storm. The temperature had already plummeted, and Luke was even colder than before. Beside him, Thalia's hands were white from clutching her legs, and she was shivering constantly.

"Come in," Luke said suddenly, breaking the ringing silence softly. "Just for tonight."

Thalia shook her head. "No."

Luke shrugged, and watched as a layer of snow and a cascade of tiny icicles fluttered down from Thalia's head and settled themselves on the already white ground. "Why not?" Luke was relatively sure he already knew Thalia's reason, but he wanted to get something other than "no," out of her.

Thalia considered him for a long moment, then shifted. Her hands fell away from her knees, and she stretched out her legs. Her feet pressed against snow, and her hands reached behind her to support her weight. "You know why." Her blue eyes met his, and for the first time, Luke saw an empty sort of hopelessness.

"Yeah." Luke shrugged, again, and observed her closely. "I guess I do."

It was a long time before Thalia spoke again, and when she did, her voice was thick with exhaustion and remorse. "I'll never trust you again."

Luke nodded, and held her unblinking gaze. "Yeah. I know."

"Good." Thalia glared at him, and stood. "I wouldn't want to have to kill any of your false hopes."

* * *

Everything was perfect. The bed was soft. The heat kept the cold night at bay. Luke knew that he should be sleeping soundly. But he wasn't. He hadn't been at eleven-thirty, and he wasn't at a quarter-past four.

"Damn you, Grace," he muttered, punching his pillow. Swinging his legs out from under the sheets, he stood-up. The floor leading to the wide, rectangular window was cool underfoot, and Luke swore. He hated his conscious, the little part of his brain that wouldn't let him sleep while his former best friend froze her fingers off just a few hundred yards away. "I didn't get that from my father," Luke murmured, pulling the curtains back.

The soft, fading moonlight shown down on the snowy backyard, throwing a fairy-tale light on the ground. Luke decided he must have been more tired than he'd thought, because he could have sworn that the small, snowy hills sparkled like diamonds. Patches of grass were scattered within the white wonderland, and frost clung to the shoots like thin jackets. The only jacket Luke cared about, though, was the olive-green one Thalia was wearing.

"What _are _you doing?" Luke wondered out-loud.

Below him, instead of lying, shivering on the ground, Thalia was running. Back and forth, swinging her arms. After awhile, she slipped her arms out of her army jacket and let it fall onto the snow. The black shirt she'd found in one of the dresser drawers stood prominently out against the white background, and Luke wondered briefly if Thalia knew that, like her shirt, she too, always stood-out. Like black against white. She started running, again, this time away from the house. Blue lines of electricity wrapped around her brandished arms, and Luke frowned. They'd already tried throwing household items at the invisible wall, but nothing shattered the barrier.

A cry of warning was halfway out of his mouth when Thalia's body met the wall. Her electrified palms smashed against the enclosure first, the rest of her form careening after them. The window blocked any sound, but Luke winced. Thalia fell awkwardly on her side, arms and legs in tangled piles. All the gathered electricity dissipated, soaked quickly away, into the snow.

Thalia didn't rise.

Backing away from the window, Luke swore repeatedly, while searching frantically for a pair of shoes. He took too long, and he knew that. When he finally stumbled out the bedroom door, Luke didn't bother to turn on the lights, and fell down the lower half of the staircase. He continued swearing as he collected himself and burst into the kitchen, out the backdoor.

The heap that was Thalia should have been black. Black on white. Luke, sprinting lopsidedly around the larger piles of snow, grimaced when the red splatters caught his attention. The puddles around her head were dizzyingly bright. Poppy red paint on the purest of white canvases. For a moment, Luke went cross-eyed. For a split-second, there were two Thalias, both lying bloody and broken on winter's harsh ground.

Dropping to his knees, Luke observed his fallen companion, trying to asses the damage. Tentatively, he moved a clump of wet hair away from the side of Thalia's head. The blood was coming from there. With numb fingers, Luke pulled his shirt off, scrunched it up, and pressed the waded fabric against the red spot on Thalia head.

"Damn cold," he whispered to himself, shivering.

Swallowing thickly, Luke slid his arms under Thalia, pulled her closer to him, and stood-up. Dealing with injuries had fallen mostly to Thalia durning their runaway days, but he still knew enough about head-wounds to know there was always a lot of blood. Even if the injury wasn't that bad. Leaving her outside, though, wouldn't be good medical procedure. "Sorry, Thals," he muttered, trudging back toward the house. "Sometimes your personal preferences just don't matter."

Thalia moaned and twitched in his arms, but remained otherwise unresponsive.

Kicking open the ajar backdoor, Luke walked back into the warm house. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase to readjust his grasp on Thalia, and then started his ascent. Upstairs, he dumped her rather unceremoniously on the bed, and then retreated to the bathroom for first-aid supplies. Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Luke realized how much trouble he was in. His face was unbelievably pale, and he was shaking. Blood covered his shirt and arms, but that wasn't the reason behind the quivers racking his limbs. Leaning against the cold counter, Luke swore. He was trembling because he was afraid.

Afraid for Thalia.

"Damn you, Grace," he repeated, raising his head to glare into his reflection's scared eyes. "Damn you. Damn you. _Damn you_!"

Once he had bandages and disinfectant, a needle and thread, Luke considered staying there; denying Thalia his help. He could let her bleed, maybe to death, there on the bed. He could watch her wraith in pain, and listen to her agony-filled screams emotionlessly. What better way to redeem himself in Prometheus' eyes? But he couldn't. When he heard one of Thalia's pitiful whimpers, he couldn't resist racing to her aid. Her tiny noises of discomfort brought back too many childhood memories.

There was another reason he couldn't leave her to die, but he refused to acknowledge it. If he did, he would be welcoming the promise of execution with open arms.

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**AN: **Here's to long waits in between chapters! And this time, I don't even have a half-decent excuse. Sorry.

Oh, and because the wonderful dreamcatcher96 nominated _Forcing the Stars to Align _for the A.U. category at fanmortals. webs. com , you can vote for it! (Er... until the twentieth of this month- - March. Talk about short notice.) All votes are appreciated, and again, I'm sorry about the very short notice.


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